As it just so happens, Madam, I love my Mary. It's understandable that by the way I look at you and her that you would think an advance would be appropriate, but, and I mean so little offense that it might be called no offense at all, you are mistaken. Mary has even pointed out that I eat with a look of intensity, whether I enjoy my meal or not, so my manner of regard shouldn't be a basis for any impression.  I may be brooding or even cross when I look at my love across the table. It does not matter. The softness with which I regard you is not a plea that you should do what I cannot or will not--it is a softness that is in my nature and so, my regard. While studying French in Nice, my professor, Mme. Corrine, advanced on me in a French, didactic way, saying, "Mauricio, j'adore votre regard." This sentence taught me about both the universality of my magnetism and the connection we share with the French via our derived but common language. The French have stereotypically been the mor-de-femme and I daresay that may have been passed on to me, however diluted by half of my hot and noxious blood that boiled in my ancestors' veins along the equator. Even now I see you staring into my eyes--are you even listening to me Madam Sah- d'accord, I apologize, I apologize. But I see you shiver when I breathe the French r. Do you even see me? Are my eyes all that you can bear to see? Madam, Madam, look anywhere but my eyes, Madam. Look at my voice! Feel my name! Look at me!