"Who was this woman? This Elenor Murray was America; Corrupt, deceived, deceiving, self-deceived, Half-disciplined, half-lettered, crude and smart, Enslaved yet wanting freedom, brave and coarse, Cowardly, shabby, hypocritical, Generous, loving, noble, full of prayer, Scorning, embracing rituals, recreant To Christ so much professed; adventuresome; Curious, mediocre, venal, hungry For money, place, experience, restless, no Repose, restraint; before the world made up To act and sport ideals, go abroad To bring the world its freedom, having choked Freedom at home--the girl was this because These things were bred in her, she breathed them in Here where she lived and grew." Then Barrett Bays stepped down And said, "If this is all, I'd like to go." Then David Borrow whispered in the ear Of Merival, and Merival conferred With Ritter and Llewellyn George and said: "We may need you again, a deputy Will take you to my house, and for the time Keep you in custody." The deputy Came in and led him from the jury room. ELENOR MURRAY Coroner Merival took the hundred letters Which Elenor Murray wrote to Barrett Bays, Found some of them unopened, as he said, And read them to the jury. Day by day She made a record of her life, and wrote Her life out hour by hour, that he might know. The hundredth letter was the last she wrote. And this the Coroner found unopened, cut The envelope and read it in these words: "You see I am at Nice. If you have read The other letters that I wrote you since Our parting there in Paris, you will know About my illness; but I write you now Some other details." "I went back to work So troubled and depressed about you, dear, About myself as well. I thought of you, Your suffering and doubt, perhaps your hate. And since you do not write me, not a line Have written since we parted, it may be Hatred has entered you to make distrust Less hard to bear. But in no waking hour, And in no hour of sleep when I have dreamed, Have you been from my mind. I love you, dear, Shall always love you, all eternity Cannot exhaust my love, no change shall come To change my love. And yet to love you so, And have no recompense but silence, thoughts Of your contempt for me, make exquisite The suffering of my spirit. Could I sing My sorrow would enchant the world, or write, I might regain your love with beauty born Out of this agony."