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I will. Certainly I will.

[Coolly.] He will explain it to you.

He doesn't say one thing and do another. He is honest in his own way.

[Plucks one of the roses and throws it at her feet.] He is, indeed! The soul of honour!

You may make fun of him as much as you like. I understand more than you think about that business. And so will he. Writing those long letters to her for years, and she to you. For years. But since I came back I understand it—well,

You do not. Nor would he.

[Laughs scornfully.] Of course. Neither he nor I can understand it. Only she can. Because it is such a deep thing!

[Angrily.] Neither he nor you—nor she either! Not one of you!

[With great bitterness.] She will! She will understand it! The diseased woman!