Posthumous Works of Mary Wollstonecraft/Volume 4/Letter 85
LETTER VI.
Friday Morning.
I am sick with vexation—and wish I could knock my foolish head against the wall, that bodily pain might make me feel less anguish from self-reproach! To say the truth, I was never more displeased with myself, and I will tell you the cause.—You may recollect that I did not mention to you the circumstance of ——— having a fortune left to him; nor did a hint of it drop from me when I conversed with my sister; because I knew he had a sufficient motive for concealing it. Last Sunday, when his character was aspersed, as I thought, unjustly, in the heat of vindication I informed * * * * * * that he was now independent; but, at the same time, desired him not to repeat my information to B———; yet, last Tuesday, he told him all—and the boy at B———'s gave Mrs.——— an account of it. As Mr. ——— knew he had only made a confident of me (I blush to think of it!) he guessed the channel of intelligence, and this morning came (not to reproach me, I wish he had!) but to point out the injury I have done him.—Let what will be the consequence, I will reimburse him, if I deny myself the necessaries of life—and even then my folly will sting me.—Perhaps you can scarcely conceive the misery I at this moment endure—that I, whose power of doing good is so limited, should do harm, galls my very soul. * * * * * * may laugh at these qualms—but, supposing Mr. ——— to be unworthy, I am not the less to blame. Surely it is hell to despise one's self!—I did not want this additional vexation—at this time I have many that hang heavily on my spirits. I shall not call on you this month—nor stir out.—My stomach has been so suddenly and violently affected, I am unable to lean over the desk.
Mary Wollstonecraft.
