"You didn't come for love of me, that I'll swear."
"'Tis quite true. If I had gone for love o' you, if I had ever
sincerely loved you, if I loved you still, I should not so loathe and
hate myself for my weakness as I do now! ... My eyes were dazed by
you for a little, and that was all."
He shrugged his shoulders. She resumed--
"I didn't understand your meaning till it was too late."
"That's what every woman says."
"How can you dare to use such words!" she cried, turning impetuously
upon him, her eyes flashing as the latent spirit (of which he was to
see more some day) awoke in her. "My God! I could knock you out of
the gig! Did it never strike your mind that what every woman says
some women may feel?"
"Very well," he said, laughing; "I am sorry to wound you. I did
wrong--I admit it." He dropped into some little bitterness as he
continued: "Only you needn't be so everlastingly flinging it in my
face. I am ready to pay to the uttermost farthing. You know you
need not work in the fields or the dairies again. You know you may
clothe yourself with the best, instead of in the bald plain way you
have lately affected, as if you couldn't get a ribbon more than you
earn.
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