It spoils my pleasure, it clouds my fancy.

You are poisoning my happiness, you--you...

the croaker's voice is disagreeable to me." Isabella sadly bent her head in silence.

Ulrich approached her, saying: "I do not wish to wound you, Belita; indeed, I do not.

You mean well, and you love me, a poor forsaken fellow; do you not, little girl ?" "Yes, Ulrich, and that is just why I have told you what I think.