Two Messengers Covered With Dust Come To

You May Imagine Me The Very Shadow Of My Husband.

I Would Rather Fight With My Hands Than My Tongue.

It Is Done... The Precious Portrait Placed In The Hands Of The Gentlemen For Safe Keeping.

And Now, Dear Sister, I Must Leave This House Or The Retreating Army Will Make Me A Prisoner In It By Filling Up The Road I Am Directed To Take.

Disaffection Stalks Around Us.