aid of ir me, myself. I say, You speak as to you. Its the money you care for.

    Ive admitted as muc? But t il our fortune is secure. You may trust yourself, till t to my , say, to my cupidity; side t out. I migeaco profit from it. e can take some ely, of course, , ure  only be silent, to t it. You understand me? Being once committed to t be true to eac speak lig o ture of t you from a kno;

    My uncles care, I say, o consider any strategy t . But—

    s and,  to s my aim t your uncle o vieomorroo reconsider. But t t, as about everything.

    he passes his hand again before his eyes, and again looks older.

    truck terribly c, all at once.  as fear, or doubt.  last takes my o me; but  is yours— man see you kept doo le and insulted by fello? t I  for anotor: slemen your uncles  for your uncle to die, and find a liberty t ime, remor,   age? Say ty-five, or forty. You o ting of books, of a kind t rey sells, for a so drapers boys and clerks. Your fortune sits untouc of a bank. Your consolation is to be mistress of Briar— is left to you, one by one.

    As  at  at my o in its slipper. I times igo a form it longs to outgro quite still, to cing to kno my future at Briar—for  I , long ago, already concluded for myself; but by t t elling it at all—t ted, and travelled, forty miles—t olen o t of to my dark room, to me.

    Of to o er, ears on my c s—I t all.

    I say, tomorrohinks Rowlandson a hack.

    t is all I say. It is enoug smile—I t like to see  s