She saw his meaning, and whispered in a low full accent of eager assurance: “Don’t mistake me, Clym. Though I should like Paris, I love you for yourself alone. To be your wife and live in Paris would be heaven to me; but I would rather live with you in a hermitage here than not be yours at all. It is gain to me either way, and very great gain. There’s my too candid confession.”
But, Eustacia is lying - or at the very leazst - exaggerating
