Everybody spoke at once, and Miss Pecksniff, with clasped hands,
sought consolation everywhere and found it nowhere, when Jinkins, having
met the postman at the door, came back with a letter, which he put into
her hand.
Miss Pecksniff opened it, uttered a piercing shriek, threw it down upon
the ground, and fainted away.
They picked it up; and crowding round, and looking over one another's
shoulders, read, in the words and dashes following, this communication:
'OFF GRAVESEND.
'CLIPPER SCHOONER, CUPID
'Wednesday night
'EVER INJURED MISS PECKSNIFF--Ere this reaches you, the undersigned
will be--if not a corpse--on the way to Van Dieman's Land. Send not in
pursuit. I never will be taken alive!
'The burden--300 tons per register--forgive, if in my distraction,
I allude to the ship--on my mind--has been truly dreadful.
Frequently--when you have sought to soothe my brow with kisses--has
self-destruction flashed across me. Frequently--incredible as it may
seem--have I abandoned the idea.
'I love another. She is Another's. Everything appears to be somebody
else's. Nothing in the world is mine--not even my Situation--which I
have forfeited--by my rash conduct--in running away.
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