I tell it you just as it is.

Everything in life to me depends upon it.

I think I may count upon your sympathy.' 'Why did you not tell me before ?' said Paul Montague in a hoarse voice.
Then there had come a sudden and rapid interchange of quick speaking between the men, each of them speaking the truth exactly, each of them declaring himself to be in the right and to be ill-used by the other, each of them equally hot, equally generous, and equally unreasonable.
Montague at once asserted that he also loved Henrietta Carbury.

He blurted out his assurance in the baldest and most incomplete manner, but still in such words as to leave no doubt.

No;--he had not said a word to her.