I know it was not you, or Isabel, or me.

It was just fate--and we must try and help each other.
Don't think I have been only sorry for myself.

Don't think that of me.
But I think you should have trusted me, dear." "We longed to tell you," said Theophil, with his head bowed in distress in Jenny's lap, while she softly stroked his hair with an absent tenderness, though her eyes looked straight in front of her, and her voice was as if she were talking to herself.
"We longed to tell you," he repeated.
"O I wish you had." "We feared it, dear." "Yes, yes, I know.

I was only a little child the day before yesterday.

I have never been worthy to be your wife, dear.