"John? may I call you by your name, not by the odious name they have for you here?..."
She leaned her head against my shoulder.
"Johnnie, you are a fine, sensitive soul, and I know you'll be a great poet some day ... but why don't these people take you more seriously?
"I think it must be your childlikeness ... and your spirit of horse-play, that breaks through at the most inopportune moments, that encourages these fools to treat you with levity."...
"Dear woman," I began, "dearest woman," and my throat bunched queerly so that I could not speak further.
She stroked my hair....
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
"I am just a year younger."
"May I kiss you?" I asked, stumblingly.