She's surrounded by friends, you know.

She never can be yours, you know.
There's a great gulf between you, and all that sort of thing, you know." "Yes," repeated Dacres, catching his last words--"yes, a great gulf, as deep as the bottomless abyss, never to be traversed, where she stands on one side, and I on the other, and between us hate, deep and pitiless hate, undying, eternal!" "Then, by Jove! my dear fellow, what's the use of trying to fight against it?
You can't do any thing.

If this were Indiana, now, or even New York, I wouldn't say any thing, you know; but you know an Indiana divorce wouldn't do _you_ any good.

Her friends wouldn't take you on those terms--and she wouldn't.

Not she, by Jove!" "I _must_ go.