We will not speak of this again, if you please.

Folly is always best forgotten.

But Soeur Angelique, if you imagine me to be a blighted being, if you think I walk the floor in the dead of night, tearing my hair and calling on all the stars to witness the unearthly gloom in my racked bosom, you are utterly mistaken.

I do nothing of the kind.

I am not blighted at all.