"She has no secrets from me. I feel at moments as though I could bolt for it. "Spare me!" Jonathan, however, instead of answering him, searched for his knife, with the intention of severing his wrist. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. But it was of no avail. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. "I was about to add," continued Gay, "that my opera shall have no music except the good old ballad tunes. I was afraid that I might be called upon as a witness.
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