] I have something to propose. Come home with me tomorrow.
AGNES. [After a pause, raising her head.] Home--?
GERTRUDE. Ketherick. The very spot for a woman who wants to shut out
things. Miles and miles of wild moorland! For company, purple heath and
moss-covered granite, in summer; in winter, the moor-fowl and the snow
glistening on top of the crags. Oh, and for open-air music, our little
church owns the sweetest little peal of bells--! [AGNES rises,
disturbed.] Ah, I can't promise you their silence! Indeed, I'm very
much afraid that on a still Sunday you can even hear the sound of the
organ quite a long distance off. I am the organist when I'm at home.
That's Ketherick. Will you come? [The distant tinkling of mandolin and
guitar is again heard.]
AGNES. Listen to that. The mandolinisti! You talk of the sound of your
church organ, and I hear his music.
GERTRUDE. His music?
AGNES. The music he is fond of; the music that gives him the thoughts
that please him, soothe him.
GERTRUDE. [Listening--humming the words of the air, contemptuously:
"Bell'amore deh! Porgi l'orecchio, ad un canto che parte del
cuore . . ."] Love-music!
AGNES. [In a low voice, staring upon the ground.] Yes, love music.
[The door leading from LUCAS'S room opens, and ST. OLPHERTS and LUCAS
are heard talking.
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