'I think he was at his old sarcasms, and meant that I was the same
impertinent minx he remembered long ago, uncorrected by time; and so I am,
and he must not expect compliments from old Monica Knollys.
'"It is a long time, Silas; but that, you know, is not my fault," said I.
'"Not your fault, my dear--your instinct. We are all imitative creatures:
the great people ostracised me, and the small ones followed. We are very
like turkeys, we have so much good sense and so much generosity. Fortune,
in a freak, wounded my head, and the whole brood were upon me, pecking and
gobbling, gobbling and pecking, and you among them, dear Monica. It wasn't
your fault, only your instinct, so I quite forgive you; but no wonder the
peckers wear better than the pecked. You are robust; and I, what I am."
'"Now, Silas, I have not come here to quarrel. If we quarrel now, mind, we
can never make it up--we are too old, so let us forget all we can, and try
to forgive something; and if we can do neither, at all events let there be
truce between us while I am here."
'"My personal wrongs I can quite forgive, and I do, Heaven knows, from my
heart; but there are things which ought not to be forgiven.
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