Dmitry is there for nothing else
but to _eviter_ for me these details. It is my holiday, my
pleasure-day, my time of joy. I felt young, Paul. You would not make
one little shadow for me--would you, _ami?_"
No voice that he had ever dreamt of possessed so many tones in it as
hers--even one of pathos, as she lingered over the word "shadow," All
his annoyance melted. He only felt he would change the very mainspring
of his life if necessary to give her pleasure and joy.
"Of course I would not make a shadow,--surely you know that," he
said, moved. "Only you see a man generally pays for a woman's food."
"When she belongs to him--but I don't belong to you, baby Paul. You,
for the day, belong to me--and are my guest!"
"Very well, then, we won't talk about it," he said, resigned by the
caress in her words. To belong to her! That was something, if but for
one day.
"Only it must never come up again, this question", she
insisted. "Should we spend more hours on this lake, or other lakes--or
mountains, or rivers, or towns--let us speak never of money, or
paying. If you only knew of how I hate it! the cruel yellow gold! I
have heaps of it--heaps of it! and for it human beings have always
paid so great a price. Just this once in life let it bring happiness
and peace.
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