Indecent
On that strange indignity.
“My good opinion once lost is lost forever.”
— Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice
“Why are we fighting?” he asked.
“We’re not fighting,” she said. “We’re discussing differences.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I don’t feel like you understand me.”
“No, you don’t like my understanding of you.”
“It’s not very generous.”
“How so?”
“You call me aristocratic. Neurotic as hell. Poetic. Strange.”
“Very strange.”
“See?”
“There’s no value judgment. Well, neurotic is bad.”
“I’m not sure if you respect me.”
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“It feels like you hold me in low regard.”
She wanted him to think she was good. Not entertaining, not fascinating. Good. She wanted that almost indecently—
“I don’t know how to help with that.”
She hung up.