Then weeping, she struggled vehemently to withdraw her hands, which all the while I held between mine.—Her struggles!—O what additional charms, as I now reflect, did her struggles give to every feature, every limb, of a person so sweetly elegant and lovely!
Impossible, my dearest life, till you pronounce my pardon!—Say but you forgive me!—say but you forgive me!
I beseech you to be gone! leave me to myself, that I may think what I can do, and what I ought to do.
That, my dearest creature, is not enough. You must tell me that I am forgiven; that you will see me to-morrow as if nothing had happened.
And then I clasped her again in my arms, hoping she would not forgive me—
I will—I do forgive you—wretch that you are!
Nay, my Clarissa! and is it such a reluctant pardon, mingled with a word so upbraiding, that I am to be put off with, when you are thus (clasping her close to me) in my power?
I do, I do forgive you!
Heartily?
Yes, heartily!