"You leave this office no longer my ensign, as a consequence of gross misconduct and deliberate dishonesty." Those words repeated themselves over and over in Iago's mind, an obsessive refrain, so that he could hardly make sense of aught else that the Moor said. Condemned he was, well and truly condemned, and O, how fitting it was that the sentence would not go from his thoughts. No longer my ensign...gross misconduct...deliberate dishonesty...
Fitting, yes. Not at all unexpected, either; this was no more than he deserved...so why did he stay, nearly catatonic, by the desk? He stared fixed at his bandaged hand, which throbbed in the aftermath of Othello's crushing grasp. No more than he deserved... he would do well to bear that in mind. Nothing to be done.
But for Emilia...O, but this was cruel to her. That she had pleaded for his sentence to be lessened, knowing what he had done and admitting to the fact...and indeed, part of him dredged up yet more dark fury at that thought. That she had betrayed him...that was not so well...but yet, she spoke true, and even one so false as he could not condemn her most devoted person for that.
Resigned, knowing full well that he would be retreating in disgrace, and caring not at all for that fact, he bowed his head to the general, keeping his eyes trained upon the hand-woven carpet resting on the stone floor.
"Of course," he whispered, turning to quit the office unsteadily. "I bid you good day, general." So saying, he walked from the chamber, stumbling slightly, knowing that he could never return...not in the same manner as before, no matter what concessions Othello made on Emilia's behalf. And yet, the pity of it, Iago. Oh, Iago, the pity of it, Iago.