Chapter 4. A Letter from Little Dorrit

           

           DearMrClennam,

           IwritetoyoufrommyownroomatVenice,thinkingyouwillbegladtohearfromme.ButIknowyoucannotbesogladtohearfrommeasIamtowritetoyou;foreverythingaboutyouisasyouhavebeenaccustomedtoseeit,andyoumissnothing—unlessitshouldbeme,whichcanonlybeforaverylittlewhiletogetherandveryseldom—whileeverythinginmylifeissostrange,andImisssomuch.

           WhenwewereinSwitzerland,whichappearstohavebeenyearsago,thoughitwasonlyweeks,ImetyoungMrsGowan,whowasonamountainexcursionlikeourselves.Shetoldmeshewasverywellandveryhappy.Shesentyouthemessage,byme,thatshethankedyouaffectionatelyandwouldneverforgetyou.Shewasquiteconfidingwithme,andIlovedheralmostassoonasIspoketoher.Butthereisnothingsingularinthat;whocouldhelplovingsobeautifulandwinningacreature!Icouldnotwonderatanyonelovingher.Noindeed.

           ItwillnotmakeyouuneasyonMrsGowan’saccount,Ihope—forIrememberthatyousaidyouhadtheinterestofatruefriendinher—ifItellyouthatIwishshecouldhavemarriedsomeonebettersuitedtoher.MrGowanseemsfondofher,andofcoursesheisveryfondofhim,butIthoughthewasnotearnestenough—Idon’tmeaninthatrespect—Imeaninanything.IcouldnotkeepitoutofmymindthatifIwasMrsGowan(whatachangethatwouldbe,andhowImustaltertobecomelikeher!)IshouldfeelthatIwasratherlonelyandlost,forthewantofsomeonewhowassteadfastandfirminpurpose.

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