I can assure you that your absence is the most exquisite of tortures, my love.

[He knows better than to think she is really angry at the thought that he might not miss her every waking hour. Haurchefant does, of course. There is scarcely a moment that she shifts out of his thoughts. But one simply cannot be in his position and spend all their time lingering on how keenly they miss their beloved.]

If you wish me to prepare a ballad describing it for the next time you visit, then you have but to ask.

[While he isn't that much of a poet, at least as far as writing them goes, he's sure he can come up with something.]