"You get angry with me. You always did."
"Yes," he said humbly. "I'll try not to. But sometimes I think you don't love me."
"But I do," she assured him gently.
"But sometimes—" he stopped.
"Well, what?"
"No, I won't say it."
"Yes, tell me."
"Well, sometimes—you don't seem to like to have me touch you, you—"
"I don't like you to be rough," said Mary.
"Am I—rough?"