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Haven’t I shown you over and over again that I mean you no harm? What do I have to do?’ ‘You can go away and leave me to my affairs,’ she threw at him. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. "You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Worse than any man.
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