作者：托马斯·哈代 2012-01-06 10:00
'Angel! - Angel! I was a child - a child when it happened! I knew nothing of men.'
'You were more sinned against than sinning, that I admit.'
'Then will you not forgive me?'
'I do forgive you, but forgiveness is not all.'
'And love me?'
To this question he did not answer.
'O Angel - my mother says that it sometimes happens so! - she knows several cases where they were worse than I, and the husband has not minded it much - has got over it at least. And yet the woman has not loved him as I do you!'
'Don't, Tess; don't argue. Different societies, different manners. You almost make me say you are an unapprehending peasant woman, who have never been initiated into the proportions of social things. You don't know what you say.'
'I am only a peasant by position, not by nature!'
She spoke with an impulse to anger, but it went as it came.
'So much the worse for you. I think that parson who unearthed your pedigree would have done better if he had held his tongue. I cannot help associating your decline as a family with this other fact - of your want of firmness. Decrepit families imply decrepit wills, decrepit conduct. Heaven, why did you give me a handle for despising you more by informing me of your descent! Here was I thinking you a new-sprung child of nature; there were you, the belated seedling of an effete aristocracy!'