Memoirs of Miss Sidney Bidulph | ||
October 22.—
With what a tortoise pace does time advance to the wretched! how dismal are those hours which are spent in reflecting on lost happiness! O Faulkland! how light was thy transgression, if we consider the consequences, compared to that which has driven me from my
15
We keep ourselves intirely concealed from the knowlege of all our acquaintance; not a mortal visits us, but, now-and-then, Miss Burchell; and I have never stirred out of doors but to church.
Memoirs of Miss Sidney Bidulph | ||