Now we are safe!

_Francis_.
Horribly safe; for here,
If there are wives at all, they are salted so
They have no meaning for the blood, bent things
Philosophy allows not to be women.

_Valentine_.
But think of the husbands that must spend their nights
Alongside skin like bark. It is the men
That have the tragedy in these weather'd lands.

_Francis_.
No thought of that! We are monks now. And, indeed,
This is a cloister that a man could like,
This blue-aired space of grassy land, that here,
Just as it touches the sea's bitter mood,
Is troubled into dunes, as it were thrilled,
Like a calm woman trembling against love.

_Sylvan_.
Woman again!--How, knowing you, I failed
So long to know the truth, I cannot think.

_Francis_.
And what's the truth?

_Sylvan_.
Woman and love of her