'DEAR NELL,--It is a cruel thing of you to be always upbraiding me
when I am a trifle remiss or so in writing a letter. I see I can't
make you comprehend that I have not quite as much time on my hands as
Miss Harris or Mrs. Mills. I never neglect you on purpose. I could
not _do_ it, you little teazing, faithless wretch.
'The humour I am in is worse than words can describe. I have had a
hideous dinner of some abominable spiced-up indescribable mess and it
has exasperated me against the world at large. So you are coming
home, are you? Then don't expect me to write a long letter. I am
not going to Dewsbury Moor, as far as I can see at present. It was a
decent friendly proposal on Miss Wooler's part, and cancels all or
most of her little foibles, in my estimation; but Dewsbury Moor is a
poisoned place to me; besides, I burn to go somewhere else. I think,
Nell, I see a chance of getting to Brussels. Mary Taylor advises me
to this step. My own mind and feelings urge me. I can't write a
word more.
'C. B.'
TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE
'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, RAWDON,
'_Nov_.
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