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Aurora's young lover, Henry, has just come to see her. However, she
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HE [kissing her hand] At last!
SHE. Henry: something dreadful has happened.
HE. What's the matter?
SHE. I have lost your poems.
HE. They were unworthy of you. I will write you some more.
SHE. No, thank you. Never any more poems for me. Oh, how could I have been so mad! so rash! so imprudent!
HE. Thank Heaven for your madness, your rashness, your imprudence!
SHE [impatiently] Oh, be sensible, Henry. Can't you see what a terrible thing this is for me? Suppose anybody finds these poems! what will they think?
HE. They will think that a man once loved a woman more devotedly than ever man loved woman before. But they will not know what man it was.
SHE. What good is that to me if everybody will know what woman it was?
HE. But how will they know?
SHE. How will they know! Why, my name is all over
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