"See here, Martine, this cannot go on like this any longer."
She replied as if she wanted to tease him:
"What cannot go on any longer, Benoist?"
"My thinking of you as many hours as there are in the day," he
answered.
She put her hands on her hips.
"I do not oblige you to do so."
"Yes, it is you," he stammered; "I cannot sleep, nor rest, nor eat,
nor anything."
"What do you need to cure you of all that?" she asked.
He stood there in dismay, his arms swinging, his eyes staring, his
mouth agape.
She hit him a punch in the stomach and ran off.