"Well, what of it?" he answered me, stretching himself.
"O Volódya! You can't imagine what is going on in me. I had just rolled in my coverlet when I saw her and heard her so distinctly, so distinctly, that it is really wonderful! And do you know? when I lie and think of her, I feel sad, God knows why, and I want to cry awfully."
Volódya moved restlessly.
"I wish only for one thing," continued I, "and that is, always to be with her, always to see her, and nothing else. Are you in love? Confess really, do, Volódya!"
It is strange, but I wanted everybody to be in love with Sónichka, and I wanted everybody to talk about it.
"That is not your business," said Volódya, turning his face toward me. "Maybe."
"You do not want to sleep, you only pretended!" I called out, when I noticed by his burning eyes that he did not even think of sleeping, and had thrown off his coverlet. "Let us talk about her. Don't you think she is fine? She is so charming that if she were to command me: 'Nikólenka, jump out of the window!' or, 'throw yourself into the fire!' I swear to you," said I, "I should with pleasure do so. Oh, what a charming girl!" I added, vividly imagining her before me; and, completely to enjoy that image, I abruptly turned on my other side and stuck my head under the pillows. "Volódya, I want to cry awfully."
"You are a fool!" he said, smiling, and then kept silent for a moment. "I am entirely different from you; I think that if it were possible, I should want at first to sit by her side and talk with her —"
"Oh, so you are in love, too?" I interrupted him.
"Then," continued Volódya, smiling gently, "then I should kiss her little fingers, her eyes, lips, nose, feet, — I should kiss her all over —"
