He looked at her with his stiff insistence, an insistence in which there was such a want of tact; especially when the dull dark beam in his eye rested on her as a physical weight.
"No, I didn't feel that; I couldn't think of you as dead.

I wish I could!" he candidly declared.
"I thank you immensely." "I'd rather think of you as dead than as married to another man." "That's very selfish of you!" she returned with the ardour of a real conviction.

"If you're not happy yourself others have yet a right to be." "Very likely it's selfish; but I don't in the least mind your saying so.
I don't mind anything you can say now--I don't feel it.

The cruellest things you could think of would be mere pin-pricks.

After what you've done I shall never feel anything--I mean anything but that.