But you have made a fire in my cold life, and you will pardon me if I dare warm my hands.
The sun is brighter because of you, and the flowers fairer, and the birds' song sweeter.

Grant me this little boon, that I may think of you.

Have no fears that I will pester you with attentions.

No priest ever served his goddess with a remoter reverence than mine for you." She stopped in an alley of roses and looked me in the face.

In the dusk I could not see her eyes.
"Fine words," she said.