Curse upon the Colonel, and curse upon the writer of the last letter I received, and upon all the world! Thou to pretend to be as much interested in my Clarissa’s fate as myself!⁠—’Tis well for one of us that this was not said to me, instead of written.⁠—Living or dying, she is mine⁠—and only mine. Have I not earned her dearly?⁠—Is not d⁠⸺⁠n⁠—n likely to be the purchase to me, though a happy eternity will be hers?

An eternal separation!⁠—O God! O God!⁠—How can I bear that thought!⁠—But yet there is life!⁠—Yet, therefore, hope⁠—enlarge my hope, and thou shalt be my good genius, and I will forgive thee everything.

For this last time⁠—but it must not, shall not be the last⁠—Let me hear, the moment thou receivest this⁠—what I am to be⁠—for, at present, I am

The most miserable of Men.

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Rose, at Knightsbridge, Five o’clock.

My fellow tells me that thou art sending Mowbray and Tourville to me:⁠—I want them not⁠—my soul’s sick of them, and of all the world⁠—but most of myself. Yet, as they send me word they will come to me immediately, I will wait for them, and for thy next. O Belford, let it not be⁠—But hasten it, be what it may!