Jim, what ails you? Tell me what you’ve done.
I’m sorry, Jim ...

JIM:
I swear I never set out
To do it, Judith; and the thing was done,
Before I came to my senses: that’s God’s truth:
And may hell blast ... You’re sorry? Nay, but Jim’s
Too old a bird to be caught with chaff. You’re fly:
But, Jim’s fly, too. No: mum’s the word.

JUDITH:
O Jim,
You, surely, never think I’d ...

JIM:
I don’t know.
A man in my case can’t tell who to trust,
When every mongrel’s yowling for his carcase.
Mum’s my best friend, the only one ... though, whiles,
It’s seemed even he had blabbered out my secrets,
And hollered them to rouse the countryside,
And draw all eyes on me. But, I must mizzle.

JUDITH:
You’re going, Jim?

JIM:
I’ll not be taken here,
Like a brock in his earth: I’ll not be trapped and torn ...