“I wish it didn’t have to hurt you,” she says. “Do you?”“Of course. Believe me, Cassio. I never wanted to be this tragic.”
“Of course I do, Jack! You have to beLIEve me!”
“I . . . Why do you want me to?” There was a flicker of something in Greta’s look. I couldn’t tell whether it was a flicker of love or regret or meanness, and then she said, “Why wouldn’t I want you to?” Because you hate me, I thought, but I didn’t say it.”
“I didn't want to hurt you," she blurted. "I never wanted to be someone you would regret. I'm not afraid for me. I'm afraid for you.”
“You have a piercing.” “So I do.”“Didn’t that hurt?”“A bit.”
“I think it’s just a gash. Hurts like bloody hell, though. Remind me…to never try to rescue you again.”“I can’t believe the timing, that you stepped in just when I was thrusting. I didn’t see you.”“I didn’t see the knife, so we’re even.”