YesterdayIaimedashaftatM。Henarezwhichmusthavetouchedhimtothequick。Hemadenoreply；thelessonwasover，andhebowedwithaglanceatme，inwhichIreadthathewouldneverreturn。Thissuitsmecapitally；therewouldbesomethingominousinstartinganimitation/NouvelleHeloise/。IhavejustbeenreadingRousseau’s，andithasleftmewithastrongdistasteforlove。Passionwhichcanargueandmoralizeseemstomedetestable。
Clarissaalsoismuchtoopleasedwithherselfandherlong，littleletter；butRichardson’sworkisanadmirablepicture，myfathertellsme，ofEnglishwomen。Rousseau’sseemstomeasortofphilosophicalsermon，castintheformofletters。
Love，asIconceiveit，isapurelysubjectivepoem。Inallthatbookstellusaboutit，thereisnothingwhichisnotatoncefalseandtrue。Andso，myprettyone，asyouwillhenceforthbeanauthorityonlyonconjugallove，itseemstomemyduty——intheinterest，ofcourse，ofourcommonlife——toremainunmarried，andhaveagrandpassion，sothatwemayenlargeourexperience。
Tellmeeverydetailofwhathappenstoyou，especiallyinthefirstfewdays，withthatstrangeanimalcalledahusband。IpromisetodothesameforyouifeverIamloved。
Farewell，poormartyreddarling。