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"You are not fair, little prince," I said. "I don't know how to draw anything except boa constrictors from the outside and boa constrictors from the inside."
"Oh, that will be all right," he said, "children understand."
So then I made a pencil sketch of a muzzle. And as I gave it to him my heart was torn.
"You have plans that I do not know about," I said.
But he did not answer me. He said to me, instead:
"You know--my descent to the earth . . . Tomorrow will be its anniversary."
Then, after a silence, he went on:
"I came down very near here."
And he flushed.
And once again, without understanding why, I had a queer sense of sorrow. One question, however, occurred to me:
"Then it was not by chance that on the morning when I first met you--a week ago--you were strolling along like that, all alone, a thousand miles from any inhabited region? You were on your way back to the place where you landed?"
The little prince flushed again.
And I added, with some hesitancy:
"Perhaps it was because of the anniversary?"
The little prince flushed once more. He never answered questions--but when one flushes does that not mean "Yes"?
"Ah," I said to him, "I am a little frightened--"
But he interrupted me.
"Now you must work. You must return to your engine. I will be waiting for you here. Come back tomorrow evening . . ."
But I was not reassured. I remembered the fox. One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets himself be tamed . . .
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