"Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. Even you have not been able to hold her back. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. He had buckled on his hanger, and had two brace of pistols in his belt, as well as others in this holsters. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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