‘Onegin, I was then much younger, I daresay better-looking too, And loved you with a girlish hunger; But what did I then find in you? What answer came? Just stern rejection. A little maiden’s meek affection To you, I’m sure, was trite and old. Oh God!—my blood can still turn cold When I recall how you reacted: Your frigid glance … that sermonette! … But I can’t blame you or forget How nobly in a sense you acted, How right toward me that awful day: I’m grateful now in every way….
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