Still as you talk of your return, even in February, doubtingly, I have determined, the moment the weather changes, to wean my child.—It is too ſoon for her to begin to divide ſorrow!—And as one has well ſaid, "deſpair is a freeman," we will go and ſeek our fortune together.
This is not a caprice of the moment—for your abſence has given new weight to ſome concluſions, that I was very reluctantly forming before you left me.—I do not chuſe to be a ſecondary object.—If your feelings were in uniſon with mine, you would not ſacrifice ſo much to viſionary proſpects of future advantage.
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LETTER XXXIII
Jan. 15.
I was juſt going to begin my letter with the fag end of a ſong, which would only have told you, what I may as well ſay ſimply, that it is pleaſant to forgive thoſe we love. I have received your two letters, dated the 26th and 28th of December, and my anger died away. You can ſcarcely conceive the effect ſome of your letters have produced on me. After longing to hear from you during a tedious interval of ſuſpenſe, I have ſeen a ſuperſcription written by you.—Promiſing myſelf pleaſure, and feeling emotion, I have laid it by me, till the perſon who brought it, left the room—when, behold! on opening it, I have found only half a dozen haſty lines, that have damped all the riſing affection of my ſoul.
Well, now for buſineſs—
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