LETTER XXXII.
HarringtontoWorthy.
Boston.
WHAT ails my heart? I feel a void here—and yet I verge towards my happiness—for a few days makesHarriotmine—Myrasays I hadbetter not marry her. What could prompt her to use such an expression?Better not marry her.She has repeated it several times—and with too much eagerness—I give no heed to it—and yet, why should it affect me in this manner? Is it an artifice to fathom the depth of my love?Such schemes are my utter aversion—it disturbs me—I hate such artifice—You cannot imagine how it touches my heart.
Adieu!
Adieu!
Adieu!
Adieu!