'None! Nothing but misery!' he answered. 'But what else could I expect?
You wear your scarlet letter openly, on your bosom, Hester. Mine burns
in secret! It is good, after these seven years, to talk to someone who
knows the truth. If I had one friend—or even an enemy—whom I could talk
to openly each day, then perhaps it would save me. But now it is all
lies, all emptiness, all death!'
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