So I resolved to unbosom myself to her. I told her the history
of my Lancashire marriage, and how both of us had been
disappointed; how we came together, and how we parted; how
he absolutely discharged me, as far as lay in him, free liberty to
marry again, protesting that if he knew it he would never claim
me, or disturb or expose me; that I thought I was free, but was
dreadfully afraid to venture, for fear of the consequences that
might follow in case of a discovery.
Then I told her what a good offer I had; showed her my friend's
two last letters, inviting me to come to London, and let her see
with what affection and earnestness they were written, but
blotted out the name, and also the story about the disaster of
his wife, only that she was dead.
She fell a-laughing at my scruples about marrying, and told
me the other was no marriage, but a cheat on both sides; and
that, as we were parted by mutual consent, the nature of the
contract was destroyed, and the obligation was mutually
discharged. She had arguments for this at the tip of her tongue;
and, in short, reasoned me out of my reason; not but that it
was too by the help of my own inclination.
But then came the great and main difficulty, and that was the
child; this, she told me in so many words, must be removed,
and that so as that it should never be possible for any one to
discover it.
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