angry/sad/bad drivers

"Oh, and do you remember.” —she added "a conversation we had once about driving a car?"

"Why not exactly."

"You said a bad driver was only safe until she met another bad driver? Well, I met another bad driver, didn’t I? I mean it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess. I thought you were rather an honest, straightforward person. I thought it was your secret pride."

"I'm thirty," I said. "I'm five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor."

She didn’t answer.

Angry, and in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, "The Great Gatsby" (1925)