He went to bed with it; he got up with it.

At every moment of the day he was pestered with it.

It interfered with his work, got mixed up in his business.

What a miserable confession for a man to make; a fine way to waste his time.

Was it possible that only the other day he had stood in front of the music store in Bonneville and seriously considered making Hilma a present of a music-box?
Even now, the very thought of it made him flush with shame, and this after she had told him plainly that she did not like him.