Anger flickers quietly within my heart still. Though it should not, we have discussed the matter at length and yet the thought of being placed on the same pedestal as the Snake widower, a man with one of the most strikeable faces I have ever encountered bothers me.
How could she think that of me? That I would stoop to such a level, of trivialising the love in which we share by taking to bed some back-alley Sally?
I understand her reasoning, the meaning behind the words spoken. But I still feel hurt that after all my reassurances of love she would think that of me. The thought aggrieves me.
I have been unable to quell a resurgent dissent in my mind as to what we share considering the implications I mentioned in my past entry, I have more than like supped a little too much these past days. And yet is a man not entitled to go to bed early without such base assumption?
The story she chose to tell, of how she had told her first love that she would never be faithful to him even though she was. He had betrayed her because he had assumed she was doing the same. I cannot help but wonder as to the significance of this, though her protestations were swift. She insists she has had no other and a man cannot build upon a foundation of love if there is no trust. And yet, she did not trust me.
I know I am not clear of such matters always but I thought that in my last frustrated gasp on the subject I had put to bed these notions of other women and it is clear that I did not.
I should be relieved that the matter is put to bed now and yet paradoxically I cannot help but feel anxiety over speaking in such terms.
Still, I cannot shake the feeling of affront in entirety.
It is hard to escape the sight and sounds of children. Whether it be they that play happily in the village square or grow in the bellies of friends.
It would have been difficult to imagine some years ago when the Captain's daughter and I first shared a drink in the Comb and Wattle her marriage, let alone her pregnancy as the chances of conception for her have always been very slim. Yet soon she will be a mother as well.
She did not take well to my mentioning of my childhood friend though much better than I had hoped. If it is to last I hope she will come to accept the whole truth in time.
The Gold woman has finally left my Inn, I should call a village fete and a week's worth of celebrations. Mayhaps I will not have to hear mention of her name half a dozen time of an evening for the forseeable future. But I shan't hold my breath.
I ask again, after all we have shared, how could she think that of me?
