[London, Nov. 1795] Thursday Afternoon.
Mr. —— having forgot to desire you to send the things of mine which were left at the house, I have to request you to let —— bring them to ——
I shall go this evening to the lodging; so you need not be restrained from coming here to transact your business.—And, whatever I may think, and feel—you need not fear that I shall publicly complain—No! If I have any criterion to judge of right and wrong, I have been most ungenerously treated: but, wishing now only to hide myself, I shall be silent as the grave in which I long to forget myself. I shall protect and provide for my child.—I only mean by this to say, that you have nothing to fear from my desperation.
Farewel.
Mary.
LETTER LXXIV
London, November 27 [1795].
The letter, without an address, which you put up with the letters you returned, did not meet my eyes till just now.—I had thrown the letters aside—I did not wish to look over a register of sorrow.
My not having seen it, will account for my having written to you with anger—under the impression your departure, without even a line left for me, made on me, even after your late conduct, which could not lead me to expect much attention to my sufferings.
In fact, “the decided conduct, which appeared to me so unfeeling,” has almost overturned my reason; my mind is injured—I scarcely know where I am, or what I do.—The grief I cannot conquer (for some cruel recollections never quit me, banishing almost every other) I labour to conceal in total solitude.—My life therefore is but an exercise of fortitude, continually on the stretch—and hope never gleams in this tomb, where I am buried alive.