Page:Ephemera, Greek prose poems (IA ephemeragreek00buckrich).pdf/54



—Thine hand What wouldst thou?

—Thee.

—Me? Man, there is no desire in thine eyes; thinkest thou it is polite to jest?

—Thy price?

—Truly? Art thou wealthy?

—Thy price!

—Well, friend, thirty drachmae to thee. But first, tell me

—Where is thy dwelling?

—How strange thou art! What hast thou to do with love?

—Nothing.

—Nothing? Ah!