* * * * *
'I saw you on Sunday--for near two hours--may Heaven forgive me,
thinking of little else than you. And, oh! what would I not have given
to speak, were it but ten words to you? When is my miserable probation
to end? Why is this perverse mystery persisted in? I sometimes lose all
hope in my destiny, and well-nigh all trust in you. I feel that I am a
deceiver, and cannot bear it. I assure you, on my sacred honour, I
believe there is nothing gained by all this--oh! forgive the
word--deception. How or when is it to terminate?--what do you
purpose?--why does the clerk's absence from the town cause you so much
uneasiness--is there any danger you have not disclosed? A friend told me
that you were making preparations to leave Chapelizod and return to
England. I think I was on the point of fainting when I heard it. I
almost regret I did not, as the secret would thus have been discovered,
and my emancipation accomplished. How have you acquired this strange
influence over me, to make me so deceive those in whom I should most
naturally confide? I am persuaded they believe I really recoil from you.
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