It was too good for him, and he was inadequate.

His own love was at fault, not hers.

Ashamed, he corrected her work, humbly writing above her words.
"Look," he said quietly, "the past participle conjugated with _avoir_ agrees with the direct object when it precedes." She bent forward, trying to see and to understand.

Her free, fine curls tickled his face.

He started as if they had been red hot, shuddering.