them of blame, and taken it all upon myself!

You will not wonder to see this narrative so dismally scrawled. It is
owing to different pens and ink, all bad, and written in snatches of
time; my hand trembling too with fatigue and grief.

I will not add to the length of it, by the particulars of his behaviour
to me, and of our conversation at St. Alban's, and since; because those
will come in course in the continuation of my story; which, no doubt, you
will expect from me.

Only thus much will I say, that he is extremely respectful (even
obsequiously so) at present, though I am so much dissatisfied with him
and myself that he has hitherto had no great cause to praise my
complaisance to him. Indeed, I can hardly, at times, bear the seducer in
my sight.

The lodgings I am in are inconvenient. I shall not stay in them: so it
signifies nothing to tell you how to direct to me hither. And where my
next may be, as yet I know not.

He knows that I am writing to you; and has offered to send my letter,
when finished, by a servant of his. But I thought I could not be too
cautious, as I am now situated, in having a letter of this importance
conveyed to you. Who knows what such a man may do? So very wicked a
contriver! The contrivance, if a contrivance, to get me away, so
insolently mean!--But I hope it is not a contrivance neither!--Yet, be
that as it will, I must say, that the best of him, and of my prospects
with him, are bad; and yet, having enrolled myself among the too-late
repenters, who shall pity me?