Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/186

162 {{hi|1em|JENIK: You women are so strange, Lidka. A hundred times we escape from you,—a hundred times we hold forth and declare solemnly that you drain our strength like sponges and a hundred times we return to endure our June-tide. The devil is in us. No, no Lidka, don't get angry, don't think about it. But {after a moment) it is sweet to die, though, in the glow of a heat like that}}

(She stands up and bursts out sobbing; then she kneels down again by the chair and lays her head on the table.)

{{hi|1em|LIDKA (raises her head and fires Jenik with a deep glance full of tears: suddenly she springs up and embraces him violently): Jenik, Jenik, Jenik{{...}} now you will be so dear to me{{...}} Now I know {{...}} now I know {{...}} You'll love her really, won't you, now? Ah, heavens, that must be beautiful, so beautiful.}}