'You've your own way in everything now. The
same as before, only you don't care for anything at all. You never touch
the piano, even; only go about cross and irritable all the time; there's
no pleasing you with anything. And you shut your door at night and lock me
out. Well and good; lock me out if you like!' 'It's you that are hard to
please, if you ask me,' she said. 'There's never a night and never a
morning but I'm worried out of my life lest you shall be thinking of--this
summer. You've never said a word about it, you say. Oh, don't you, though!
I'm never left long in peace without you throwing it in my teeth. I
happened to say "Hugo" one day, by a slip of the tongue, and what did you
do? You might have been nice and comforted me to help me over it, but you
only scowled and said you were not Hugo. No. I knew well enough, and I was
ever so sorry to have said it.' 'That's just the point,' said the Captain.
'Were you really sorry?' 'Yes, indeed,' said Fruen; 'it hurt me ever so.'
'Well, I shouldn't have thought it; you don't seem very upset about it.
Pages:
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400