The veils waved, shaken by the trembling limbs.
"Ask me after other things," a muffled voice said.
"Why do you no longer appear to me?"
"I may not."
"Who hinders you?"
"You." …
"By what? Am I unworthy of you?"
"Yes."
In deep contrition I was about to fall at her feet. But, coming nearer, I perceived that my faery's breath smelled of onions.
This circumstance sobered me a bit, for I don't like onions.