‘A bomb of love with stinging smart

Exploded in Ignaty’s heart.

In anguish dire I weep again

The arm that at Sevastopol

I lost in bitter pain!’

‘A bomb of love with stinging smart Exploded in Ignaty’s heart. In anguish dire I weep again The arm that at Sevastopol I lost in bitter pain!’

Not that I ever was at Sevastopol, or ever lost my arm, but you know what rhyme is.” He pushed up to me with his ugly, tipsy face.