We would quarrel! We can’t help it even now. I’d hate elegant society, you’d hate my scribbling, and we would be unhappy,
and we’d wish we hadn’t done it and everything would be horrid
She wishes once more to have been born a boy, because then the tangled mess of unrequited love, restricted roles, and unholy urges could perhaps have been entirely avoided.
“Teddy, we’d be miserable! One day you’ll find some lovely, accomplished girl who will love you more than I ever could. I’ve tried, I really have tried but I can’t.
“We would quarrel! We can’t help it even now. I’d hate elegant society, you’d hate my scribbling, and we would be unhappy,” I would be unhappy, “and we’d wish we hadn’t done it and everything would be horrid.”
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