— So do I, but I hate Wolsey more. It’s a marriage of expedience. — Rather like ours. —No…I loved you. —You don’t know the meaning of the word, Charles. You can love, perhaps for a year, a month, a day, even for an hour, and in that hour I do believe you love as well and deeply as any man, but after that hour, you love not! You love another, and another. Your love is most generous where it is most hurtful.
