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me tightly, pressing me against his whole body for a few seconds. That short space of time seemed to me an eternity.
"I could feel his hot and panting breath against my lips. Below, our knees touched, and I felt something hard press and move against my thigh.
"My emotion just then was such that I could hardly stand; for a moment I thought he would kiss me—nay, the crisp hair of his moustache was slightly tickling my lips, producing a most delightful sensation. However, he only looked deep into my eyes with a demoniac fascination.
"I felt the fire of his glances sink deep into my breast, and far below. My blood began to boil and bubble like a burning fluid, so that I felt my, (what the Italians call a 'birdie,' and what they have portrayed as a winged cherub) struggle within its prison, lift up its head, open its tiny lips, and again spout one or two drops of that creamy, life-giving fluid.
"But those few tears—far from being a soothing balm—seemed to be drops of caustic,
