_[London, Nov. 1795] Monday Morning._
I am compelled at last to say that you treat me ungenerously. I agree with
you, that
* * * * *
But let the obliquity now fall on me.--I fear neither poverty nor infamy.
I am unequal to the task of writing--and explanations are not necessary.
* * * * *
My child may have to blush for her mother's want of prudence--and may
lament that the rectitude of my heart made me above vulgar precautions;
but she shall not despise me for meanness.--You are now perfectly
free.--God bless you.