"Don't talk to me about her."
"Yes! You must let me. Because once you liked her. And once you were as intimate with her as you are with me. So you have to tell me. Isn't it rather terrible, when you've been intimate with her, to hate her so? Why is it?"
"I don't know. She sort of kept her will ready against me, always, always: her ghastly female will: her freedom! A woman's ghastly freedom that ends in the most beastly bullying! Oh, she always kept her freedom against me, like vitriol in my face."
"But she's not free of you even now. Does she still love you?"
"No, no! If she's not free of me, it's because she's got that mad rage, she must try to bully me."
"But she must have loved you."
"No! Well in specks, she did. She was drawn to me. And I think even that she hated. She loved me in moments. But she always took it back, and started bullying. Her deepest desire was to bully me, and there was no altering her. Her will was wrong, from the first."
"But perhaps she felt you didn't really love her, and she wanted to make you."
"My God, it was bloody making."
"But you didn't really love her, did you? You did her that wrong."