He has loved me for nearly two years, and said so at the beginning. I would not listen—I could not believe even. And he has said since, that almost he began to despair of making me believe in the force and steadfastness of his attachment. Certainly I conceived it to be a mere poet’s fancy … an illusion of a confusion between the woman and the poetry. I have seen a little of the way of men in such respects, and I could not see beyond that with my weary, weeping eyes, for long.
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