LETTER XIII
To Jane Talbot.
New York, October 19.
You need not come to see me, Jane. I will
not see you. Lay me not under the cruel necessity
of shutting my door against you, for that
must be the consequence of your attempt.
After reading your letter, and seeing full
proof of your infatuation, I resolved to throw
away my care no longer upon you. To think
no more of you. To act just as if you never had
existence. Whenever it was possible, to shun
you. When I met you, by chance or perforce,
to treat you merely as a stranger. I write this
letter to acquaint you with my resolution. Your
future letters cannot change it, for they shall
all be returned to you unopened.
I know you better than to trust to the appearance
of half yielding reluctance which your letter
contains. Thus it has always been, and as
often as this dutious strain flattered me with
hopes of winning you to reason, have I been deceived
and disappointed.
I trust to your discernment: your seeming
humility no longer. No child are you of mine.
You have, henceforth, no part in my blood, and
may I very soon forget that so lost and betrayed
a wretch ever belonged to it.
I charge you, write not to me again.
