Chapter XXXIII: Letter XXXII: Harrington to Worthy

_Boston._

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!