I paused briefly to ponder the irony of defending and even praising my wife in the face of such an attack. Being proud, I suppose, I refused to open up my wounds for the delectation of anyone, particularly someone of Caroline Bingley’s ilk. Thus, I had defended Mrs Darcy rather more fiercely than I would have thought possible. My immoveable resentment, it seemed, had moved a little, yet I was not in the mood to give it up entirely.
stupid bloody idiot, needs his comeuppance
