She again shook her head. “What I mean isn’t what I’ve always meant. It’s different.”
“It’s something new?”
She hesitated. “Something new. It’s not what you think. I see what you think.”
His divination drew breath then; only her correction might be wrong. “It isn’t that I am a donkey?” he asked between faintness and grimness. “It isn’t that it’s all a mistake?”
“A mistake?” she pityingly echoed. That possibility, for her, he saw, would be monstrous; and if she guaranteed him the immunity from pain it would accordingly not be what she had in mind. “Oh, no,” she declared; “it’s nothing of that sort. You’ve been right.”
Henry James, “The Beast in the Jungle,” in Major Stories & Essays (New York: Library of America, 1999), 475.
Notes: Am I just stupid or does this story make no sense whatsoever. Seriously, this guy is worse than Samuel Beckett.