"I can see that you cannot sleep," I remarked, observing by his bright eyes that he was anything but drowsy. "Well, cover yourself over SO" (and I pulled the bedclothes over him), "and then let us talk about her. Isn't she splendid? If she were to say to me, 'Nicolinka, jump out of the window,' or 'jump into the fire,' I should say, 'Yes, I will do it at once and rejoice in doing it.' Oh, how glorious she is!"
I went on picturing her again and again to my imagination, and, to enjoy the vision the better, turned over on my side and buried my head in the pillows, murmuring, "Oh, I want to cry, Woloda."
"What a fool you are!" he said with a slight laugh. Then, after a moment's silence he added: "I am not like you. I think I would rather sit and talk with her."
"Ah! Then you ARE in love with her!" I interrupted.
"And then," went on Woloda, smiling tenderly, "kiss her fingers and eyes and lips and nose and feet--kiss all of her."
"How absurd!" I exclaimed from beneath the pillows.
"Ah, you don't understand things," said Woloda with contempt.
"I DO understand. It's you who don't understand things, and you talk rubbish, too," I replied, half-crying.