You know that well; then why do you talk to me as you do?
Answer me; tell me you consent." Her head was bent, and she was scratching the blood-red straw of the seat underneath her.

Seeing him so anxious, she did not hurry to answer.
But at last she lifted up her face.

It had assumed a grave expression, and into the beautiful eyes she had succeeded in infusing a look of sadness.
"Oh, it's impossible, little man.

Never, never, will I live with you again." "Why ?" he stuttered, and his face seemed contracted in unspeakable suffering.
"Why?
Hang it all, because--It's impossible; that's about it.

I don't want to." He looked ardently at her for some seconds longer.