“I shall not come—I have plenty of money!” she cried.
“Where?”
“At my father-in-law’s, if I ask for it.”
“If you ask for it. But you won’t, Tess; I know you; you’ll never ask for it—you’ll starve first!”
With these words he rode off. Just at the corner of the street he met the man with the paint-pot, who asked him if he had deserted the brethren.
“You go to the devil!” said d’Urberville.
Tess remained where she was a long while, till a sudden rebellious sense of injustice caused the region of her eyes to swell with the rush of hot tears thither. Her husband, Angel Clare himself, had, like others, dealt out hard measure to her; surely he had! She had never before admitted such a thought; but he had surely! Never in her life—she could swear it from the bottom of her soul—had she ever intended to do wrong; yet these hard judgements had come. Whatever her sins, they were not sins of intention, but of inadvertence, and why should she have been punished so persistently?
She passionately seized the first piece of paper that came to hand, and scribbled the following lines:
O why have you treated me so monstrously, Angel! I do not deserve it. I have thought it all over carefully, and I can never, never forgive you! You know that I did not intend to wrong you—why have you so wronged me? You are cruel, cruel indeed! I will try to forget you. It is all injustice I have received at your hands!
T.