Clarissa Harlowe by Samuel Richardson

But with all this dear creature's resentment against me, I cannot, for my heart, think but she will get all over, and consent to enter the pale with me. Were she even to die tomorrow, and to know she should, would not a woman of her sense, of her punctilio, and in her situation, and of so proud a family, rather die married, than otherwise? -- No doubt but she would; although she were to hate the man ever so heartily. If so, there is now but one man in the world whom she can have -- and that is me.

Now I talk (familiar writing is but talking, Jack) thus glibly of entering the pale, thou wilt be ready to question me, I know, as to my intentions on this head.