So, fancy you see Polly Darnford abandoned by her own fault; her papa
angry at her; her mamma pitying her, and calling her silly girl; Mr.
Murray, who is a rough lover, growling over his mistress, as a dog
over a bone he fears to lose; Miss Nancy, putting on her prudish
pleasantry, snarling out a kind word, and breaking through her sullen
gloom, for a smile now and then in return; and I laughing at both in
my sleeve, and thinking I shall soon get leave to attend you in town,
which will be better than twenty humble servants of Mr. Murray's cast:
or, if I can't, that I shall have the pleasure of your correspondence
here, and enjoy, unrivalled, the favour of my dear parents, which this
ill-tempered girl is always envying me.
Forgive all this nonsense. I was willing to write something, though
worse than nothing, to shew how desirous I am to oblige you, had I a
capacity or subject, as you have. But nobody can love you better, or
admire you more, of this you may be assured (however unequal in all
other respects), than _your_ POLLY DARNFORD.
I send you up some of your papers for the good couple in Kent. Pray,
pay my respects to them: and beg they'll let me have 'em again as soon
as they can, by your conveyance.
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