He flushed, lost control of himself, and seized both her hands.
'Whatever I am, I'm not for you.

Why do you make fun of me ?' replied Maryanka, but her look showed how certainly she knew he was not making fun.
'Making fun?
If you only knew how I--' The words sounded still more commonplace, they accorded still less with what he felt, but yet he continued, 'I don't know what I would not do for you--' 'Leave me alone, you pitch!' But her face, her shining eyes, her swelling bosom, her shapely legs, said something quite different.

It seemed to him that she understood how petty were all things he had said, but that she was superior to such considerations.

It seemed to him she had long known all he wished and was not able to tell her, but wanted to hear how he would say it.
'And how can she help knowing,' he thought, 'since I only want to tell her all that she herself is?
But she does not wish to under-stand, does not wish to reply.' 'Hallo!' suddenly came Ustenka's high voice from behind the vine at no great distance, followed by her shrill laugh.

'Come and help me, Dmitri Andreich.