I
have already told you that he informed me before he was removed from the
Inn, that he had a secret to disclose to me which lay heavy on his mind.
But, fluctuating between sickness and health and between his desire to
relieve himself of it, and his dread of involving himself by revealing
it, he has, until yesterday, avoided the disclosure. I never pressed
him for it (having no idea of its weight or import, or of my right to do
so), until within a few days past; when, understanding from him, on his
own voluntary avowal, in a letter from the country, that it related to a
person whose name was Jonas Chuzzlewit; and thinking that it might throw
some light on that little mystery which made Tom anxious now and then; I
urged the point upon him, and heard his statement, as you will now,
from his own lips. It is due to him to say, that in the apprehension
of death, he committed it to writing sometime since, and folded it in a
sealed paper, addressed to me; which he could not resolve, however,
to place of his own act in my hands. He has the paper in his breast, I
believe, at this moment.
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