I never was the kind of man Mary thought me.

Some day you shall understand more about it--in the meantime my word must be enough.
I have no thought of love for any woman but you.

Did I frighten you with those joking confessions in my letters?
I wrote them purposely--as you must have seen.

The mean, paltry jealousies of women such as one meets every day are so hateful to me.

They argue such a lack of brains.
If I were so unfortunate as to love a woman who looked sour when I praised a beautiful face.