but yet she stood quite quietly, and did not come
over to me.

I was inflexible, and went on. I stood there and prattled, with the
painful consciousness that I bored her, that not one of my words went
home, and all the same I did not cease.

At bottom one might be a fairly sensitive nature, even if one were not
insane, I ventured to say. There were natures that fed on trifles, and
died just for one hard word's sake; and I implied that I had such a
nature. The fact was, that my poverty had in that degree sharpened
certain powers in me, so that they caused me unpleasantness. Yes, I
assure you honestly, unpleasantness; worse luck! But this had also its
advantages. It helped me in certain situations in life. The poor
intelligent man is a far nicer observer than the rich intelligent man.
The poor man looks about him at every step he takes, listens
suspiciously to every word he hears from the people he meets, every
step he takes affords in this way a task for his thoughts and
feelings--an occupation. He is quick of hearing, and sensitive; he is
an experienced man, his soul bears the sears of the fire....

And I talked a long time over these sears my soul had. But the longer I
talked, the more troubled she grew. At last she muttered, "My God!" a
couple of times in despair, and wrung her hands. I could see well that
I tormented her, and I had no wish to torment her--but did it, all the
same. At last, being of the opinion that I had succeeded in telling her
in rude enough terms the essentials of what I had to say, I was touched
by her heart-stricken expression. I cried:

"Now I am going, now I am going. Can't you see that I already have my
hand on the handle of the door? Good-bye, good-bye," I say. "You might
answer me when I say good-bye twice, and stand on the point of going. I
don't even ask to meet you again, for it would torment you. But tell
me, why didn't you leave me in peace? What had I done to you? I didn't
get in your way, now, did I? Why did you turn away from me all at once,
as if you didn't know me any longer? You have plucked me now so
thoroughly bare, made me even more wretched than I ever was at any time
before; but, indeed, I am not insane. You know well, if you think it
over, that nothing is the matter with me now. Come over, then, and give
me your hand--or give me leave to go to you, will you? I won't do you
any harm; I will only kneel before you, only for a minute--kneel down
on the floor before you, on