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- Джон Фоулз
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It
makes
me
furious
.
Nobody
could
ever
understand
how
much
I
put
into
yesterday
.
The
effort
of
giving
,
of
risking
,
of
understanding
.
Of
pushing
back
every
natural
instinct
.
It
’
s
him
.
And
it
’
s
this
weird
male
thing
.
Now
I
’
m
no
longer
nice
.
They
sulk
if
you
don
’
t
give
,
and
hate
you
when
you
do
.
Intelligent
men
must
despise
themselves
for
being
like
that
.
Their
illogicality
.
Sour
men
and
wounded
women
.
Of
course
,
I
’
ve
discovered
his
secret
.
He
hates
that
.
I
’
ve
thought
and
thought
about
it
.
He
must
always
have
known
he
couldn
’
t
do
anything
with
me
.
Yet
all
his
talk
about
loving
me
.
That
must
mean
something
.
This
is
what
I
think
it
is
.
He
can
’
t
have
any
normal
pleasure
from
me
.
His
pleasure
is
keeping
me
prisoner
.
Thinking
of
all
the
other
men
who
would
envy
him
if
they
knew
.
Having
me
.
So
my
being
nice
to
him
is
ridiculous
.
I
want
to
be
so
unpleasant
that
he
gets
no
pleasure
from
having
me
.
I
’
m
going
to
fast
again
.
Have
absolutely
nothing
to
do
with
him
.
Strange
ideas
.
That
I
’
ve
done
for
the
first
time
in
my
life
something
original
.
