“Oh, do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.”
Darcy mentioned his letter. “Did it,” said he,--“did it _soon_ make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?”
“I knew,” said he, “that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part, especially the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me.”
“The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.”