Barford Abbey by Susannah Minific Gunning
page 117 of 205 (57%)
page 117 of 205 (57%)
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freedom is depleasing;--but don't take your hand away; for I was still
endeavouring to get it away from him. Yes, my angel, I will call you _Miss Warley_. Talk not at this rate, my Lord: it is a kind of conversation I do not, nor wish to understand. I see, madam, I am to be unhappy;--I know you have great reason to condemn me:--my whole behaviour, since I first saw you, has been one riddle. Pray, my Lord, forbear this subject. No! if I never see you more, Miss Warley,--this is my wish that you think the worst of me that appearances admit;--think I have basely wish'd to distress you. Distress me, my Lord? Think so, I beseech you, if I never return.--What would the misfortune be of falling low, even to the most abject in your opinion, compared with endangering the happiness of her whole peace is my ardent pursuit?--If I fail, I only can tell the cause:--you shall never be acquainted with it;--for should you regard me even with pity,--cool pity,--it would be taking the dagger from my own breast, and planting it in yours. Ah! my Lady, could I help understanding him?--could I help being moved?--I was moved;--my eyes I believe betrayed it. |
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