But you, all of you, you always think you’ve got to spare my feelings with your false sense of delicacy, and you fancy you’re being kind to me with your beastly consideration … But do you think I haven’t eyes in my head? Do you think I can’t detect behind your chatter, your stuttering and stammering, the same horror and discomfiture as was felt by that good woman, that one honest person? Do you imagine I don’t see your embarrassed, dismayed looks when I pick up my crutches, don’t see how you hurriedly make conversation so that I shan’t notice?
