Boldwood ended the pause.
"Do you remember when I carried you fainting in
my arms into the King's Arms, in Casterbridge? Every
dog has his day: that was mine."
"I know-I know it all." she said, hurriedly.
"I, for one, shall never cease regretting that events
so fell out as to deny you to me."
"I, too, am very sorry." she said, and then checked
herself. "I mean, you know, I am sorry you thought
I -- "
"I have always this dreary pleasure in thinking over
those past times with you -- that I was something to
you before HE was anything, and that you belonged
ALMOST to me. But, of course, that's nothing. You
never liked me."
"I did; and respected you, too."Do you now?"
"Yes."
"Which?"
"How do you mean which?"
"Do you like me, or do you respect me?"
"I don't know -- at least, I cannot tell you. It is
difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language
which is chiefly made by men to express theirs. My
treatment of you was thoughtless, inexcusable, wicked!
I shall eternally regret it. If there had been anything
I could have done to make amends I would most
gladly have done it -- there was nothing on earth I so
longed to do as to repair the error.
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