and . . . I . . . kissed her! . . . I! . . . I! . . . I! . . . And she did not die! . . . Oh, how good it is, daroga, to kiss somebody on the forehead! . . . You can’t tell! . . . But I! I! . . . My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother would never . . . let me kiss her. . . . She used to run away . . . and throw me my mask! . . . Nor any other woman . . . ever, ever!
