We were in the vineyard when I began to tell her of my love, in words I am now ashamed to remember.

I am ashamed because I ought not to have dared to speak so to her because she stood far above such words and above the feeling they were meant to express.
I said no more, but from that day my position has been intolerable.

I did not wish to demean myself by continuing our former flippant relations, and at the same time I felt that I had not yet reached the level of straight and simple relations with her.

I asked myself despairingly, "What am I to do ?" In foolish dreams I imagined her now as my mistress and now as my wife, but rejected both ideas with disgust.

To make her a wanton woman would be dreadful.