"Ay, he did," Mercutio agrees, crossing his arms over his chest as if to cover up the scar that lies there. "'Twould have come sooner or later," he adds, defiantly, though somewhat subdued. "Mayhap it were--" No. He can't finish that sentence, not to Benvolio; not when he remembers everything that happened after the duel.

"He paid his own price for it," he says instead, changing tracks. "I do not know if I can forgive him for it; but I could not fight a wounded man."