“Mind,” said Conyers, eagerly, “as there can be no offence intended, you'll not feel any by whatever I may say.”
“Go on,” said Tom, in the same dry tone.
“Ain't you obstinate?”
“I am.”
“I knew it. We had not talked half an hour together when I detected it, and I said to myself, 'That fellow is one so rooted in his own convictions, it is scarcely possible to shake him.'”
“What next?” asked Tom.
“You can't readily forgive an injury; you find it very hard to pardon the man who has wronged you.”
“I do not; if he did n't go on persecuting me, I would n't think of him at all.”
“Ah, that's a mistake. Well, I know you better than you know yourself; you do keep up the memory of an old grudge,—you can't help it.”
“Maybe so, but I never knew it.”