"Yes," he said, "it was mad of me to suggest it. You love your husband, not me. You never allow me anything, not anything."
"Nothing ... at all?" she asked, scornfully.
"Nothing ... that counts," he retorted, hoarsely, roughly.
She shrugged her shoulders:
"You men always want ... that. Our happiness does not always consist ... of that."
"No, but ... if you loved me ... entirely...."
"Johan!" she cried.
They crossed the bridge and entered the Woods.
"If you ever dare speak to me like that again...."
"Very well, I won't."