You are so lovely, while I--well I'm not a man women care for.
I've tried to please you. Tried to please you so hard, that I may have
deceived you. I probably am what women say of me. But if I've been
otherwise with you it is because you are different from any other woman
in the world." Here the sudden flow of words ended, and Peter paced up
and down, trying to find what to say. If any one had seen Peter as he
paced, without his present environment, he would have thought him a man
meditating suicide. Suddenly his voice and face became less wild, and he
said tenderly: "There is no use in my telling you how I love you. You
know it now, or will never learn it from anything I can say." Peter
strode back to the fire. "It is my love which asks for a kiss. And I
want it for the love you will give with it, if you can give it."
Leonore had apparently kept her eyes on the blazing logs during the
whole of this monologue. But she must have seen something of Peter's
uneasy wanderings about the room, for she had said to herself: "Poor
dear! He must be fearfully in earnest, I never knew him so restless.
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