An Excerpt:

VINCENT: Please rest, Ligeia. Sleep.
LIGEIA: (Weakly. Almost a whisper.) ‘Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, ... save only through the weakness … of his … feeble ...
VINCENT: Ligeia? Ligeia!
(Music bridge.)
VINCENT: And then … then she was gone. Without Ligeia I was but as a child groping for light in the darkness. I could no longer endure the lonely desolation of our dwelling in that dim and decaying castle by the Rhine. I spent months aimlessly wandering through Europe. During these days I attempted to escape the pain of my loss with drink. And there were other methods. None of them successful. At the end of this period I purchased a very old abbey in one of the most desolate portions of fair England. At the end of those lost days I also led from the altar as my bride the fair haired and blue eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion, of Tremaine.
(Music out. Rowena speaks. Her speech is cultured but her tonality has a biting shrillness to it.)
ROWENA: Oh, Vincent, I cannot wait to see our home. It’s splendid isn’t it, Vincent! You have such very good taste. Father says so. I’ve heard him say as much. Father is a very good judge of character and he says you have very good taste.
VINCENT: I am so happy your father approves.
ROWENA: Vincent, how soon shall we be home? I know you told me you lived in a remote area, but … but this land is utterly bleak.
VINCENT: We are almost there.
ROWENA: Vincent ... Vincent, this ... this is unbelievable, Vincent. What is this place?
VINCENT: It is our home, Rowena.
ROWENA: This is your home? You ... Vincent … you live in a ruin?
VINCENT: It suits my needs.
ROWENA: This is a prank isn’t it? You surely don’t expect me to live here do you?
VINCENT: I most certainly do expect us to live here.
ROWENA: But … Vincent, why we can’t live in London?
VINCENT: I don’t like London.
ROWENA: Still, we could live somewhat closer to civilization.