My heart is an ugly creature. Whatever stories you tell of it are likely kinder than the truth.

[ His heart is still a vulnerable, frightened thing. Even with her, he's afraid to show the truth of it. Maybe especially with her.

But: he makes his best effort; he doesn't leave it there. Instead, with difficulty, he says: ]

I think you have - given me too much credit, often. Assumed I knew what I was doing. But after you, there was no one, you know.