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4

We shall be discovered.

What thinkest thou of it?

It is very strange.

'Tis but the fever'd ravings of disease: Hast thou more serious thoughts?

I would our good confessor were arrived, Whate'er my thoughts may be.

Ay; then I can divine them. To my judgment, He speaks like one more forced to utterance By agony of mind than the brain's sickness. The circumstances of the horrid deed; The wond'rous fleetness of his gallant steed Which bore Count Garcio through the forest paths

Cease, cease! I would the father were arrived.