My passion for him is the first and shall be the last of my life: my
bosom never heaved a sigh but for my Rivers.
Will you pardon the folly of a heart which till now was ashamed to
own its feelings, and of which you are even now the only confidante?
I find all the world so insipid, nothing amuses me one moment; in
short, I have no pleasure but in Rivers's conversation, nor do I count
the hours of his absence in my existence.
I know all this will be called folly, but it is a folly which makes
all the happiness of my life.
You love, my dear Bell; and therefore will pardon the weakness of
your
Emily.