Don't ask it; don't carry me out of my depth.

There is more to me than I can give you yet.

Let me wait to give it lest I remember your unfairness and my humiliation through the years to come." She lifted her lips to his, offering them; he kissed her; then, with a little laugh, she abandoned his hands and stepped back, mocking, tormenting, enjoying his discomfiture.
"It's cruel, isn't it, you poor lamb! But do you know the year is already flying very, very fast?
Do you think I'm not counting the days ?"--and, suddenly yielding--"if you wish--if you truly do wish it, dear, I will marry you on the very day that the year--my year--ends.
Come over here"-- she seated herself and made a place for him--"and you won't caress me too much--will you?
You wouldn't make me unhappy, would you ?...

Why, yes, I suppose that I might let you touch me occasionally....

And kiss me--at rare intervals....