LETTER XXXII.
HARRINGTON to WORTHY.
What ails my heart? I feel
a void here—and yet I verge towards my
happiness—for a few days makes Harriot
mine—Myra says I had better not marry her.
What could prompt her to use such an expression?
Better not marry her. She has repeated
it several times—and with too much
eagerness—I give no heed to it—and yet
why should it affect me in this manner?
Is it an artifice to fathom the depth of my
love? Such schemes are my utter aversion—
it disturbs me—I hate such artifice—You
cannot imagine how it touches my heart.
Adieu!
