God help me, I forgot even Madge.
"If I could only believe you, Mary," I answered, growing insane under the influence of her fascinations, "If I could only believe you." "Give me your lips, Malcolm," she whispered, "give me your lips .-- Again, my Malcolm .-- Ah, now you believe me." The lying logic of a wanton kiss is irresistible.

I was drunk and, alas! I was convinced.

When I think of that time, Samson is my only comfort--Samson and a few hundred million other fools, who like Samson and me have been wheedled, kissed, and duped into misery and ruin.
I said: "I do believe you, Mary.

I beg you to forgive me for having doubted you.

You have been traduced and brutally misused." "It is sweet to hear you speak those words.