If my love would not be
troublesome and impertinent, I should be nothing else; for I have a true
grateful spirit; and I had need to have such a one, for I am poor in
every thing but will.
Tuesday morning, eleven o'clock.
My dear, dear--master (I'm sure I should still say; but I will learn to
rise to a softer epithet, now-and-then) is not yet come. I hope he is
safe and well!--So Mrs. Jewkes and I went to breakfast. But I can do
nothing but talk and think of him, and all his kindness to me, and to
you, which is still me, more intimately!--I have just received a letter
from him, which he wrote overnight, as I find by it, and sent early this
morning. This is a copy of it.
TO MRS. ANDREWS
'MY DEAREST PAMELA, Monday night.
'I hope my not coming home this night will not frighten you. You may
believe I can't help it. My poor friend is so very ill, that I doubt he
can't recover. His desires to have me stay with him are so strong, that
I shall sit up all night with him, as it is now near one o'clock in the
morning; for he can't bear me out of his sight: And I have made him and
his distressed wife and children so easy, in the kindest assurances I
could give him of my consideration for him and them, that I am looked
upon (as the poor disconsolate widow, as she, I doubt, will soon be,
tells me,) as their good angel.
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