Голод

           Shewindsherarmsaboutmyneck,quiteslowly,tenderly,thebreathofherpinkquiveringnostrilsfansmerightintheface;shestrokesdownmyshoulderswithherlefthand,andsays,"Whatalotofloosehairthereis."

           "Yes,"Ireply.

           "Whatcanbethereasonthatyourhairfallsoutso?"

           "Don’tknow."

           "Ah,ofcourse,becauseyoudrinktoomuch,andperhaps...fie,Iwon’tsayit.Yououghttobeashamed.No,Iwouldn’thavebelievedthatofyou!Tothinkthatyou,whoaresoyoung,alreadyshouldloseyourhair!Now,dopleasejusttellmewhatsortofwayyoureallyspendyourlife—Iamcertainitisdreadful!Butonlythetruth,doyouhear;noevasions.Anyway,Ishallseebyyouifyouhideanything—there,tellnow!"

           "Yes;butletmekissyoufirst,then."

           "Areyoumad?...Humph,...Iwanttohearwhatkindofamanyouare....Ah,Iamsureitisdreadful."

           Ithurtmethatsheshouldbelievetheworstofme;Iwasafraidofthrustingherawayentirely,andIcouldnotendurethemisgivingsshehadastomywayoflife.Iwouldclearmyselfinhereyes,makemyselfworthyofher,showherthatshewassittingatthesideofapersonalmostangelicallydisposed.Why,blessme,Icouldcountmyfallsuptodateonmyfingers.Irelated—relatedall—andIonlyrelatedtruth.Imadeoutnothinganyworsethanitwas;itwasnotmyintentiontorousehercompassion.