Read "Clarissa Harlowe" by Samuel Richardson online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
Saturday, July 22 What dost hate me for, Belford! -- and why more and more! have I been guilty of any offence thou knewest not before? -- If pathos can move such a heart as thine, can it alter facts! -- Did I not always do this incomparable creature as much justice as thou canst do her for the heart of thee, or as she can do herself? -- What nonsense then thy hatred, thy augmented hatred, when I still persist to marry her, pursuant to word given to thee, and to faith plighted to all my relations? But hate, if thou wilt, so thou dost but write. Thou canst not hate me so much as I do myself: and yet I know if thou really hatedst me, thou wouldst not venture to tell me so.
Well, but after all, what need of her history to these women? She will certainly repent, some time hence, that she has thus needless exposed us both.