So long as I endeavoured my utmost, and loved you the same as ever, you might have remembered all you once said to me.
You might have given me help, but you haven't cared to.' The impulses which had part in this outbreak were numerous and complex.
He felt all that he expressed, but at the same time it seemed to him that he had the choice between two ways of uttering his emotion--the tenderly appealing and the sternly reproachful: he took the latter course because it was less natural to him than the former.

His desire was to impress Amy with the bitter intensity of his sufferings; pathos and loving words seemed to have lost their power upon her, but perhaps if he yielded to that other form of passion she would be shaken out of her coldness.

The stress of injured love is always tempted to speech which seems its contradiction.

Reardon had the strangest mixture of pain and pleasure in flinging out these first words of wrath that he had ever addressed to Amy; they consoled him under the humiliating sense of his weakness, and yet he watched with dread his wife's countenance as she listened to him.

He hoped to cause her pain equal to his own, for then it would be in his power at once to throw off this disguise and soothe her with every softest word his heart could suggest.