whether it be just to have no principle of action, but that of following your inclination, trampling on the affection you have fostered, and the expectations you have excited?
My affection for you is rooted in my heart.—I know you are not what you now seem—nor will you always act, or feel, as you now do, though I may never be comforted by the change.—Even at Paris, my image will haunt you.—You will see my pale face—and sometimes the tears of anguish will drop on your heart, which you have forced from mine.
I cannot write. I thought I could quickly have refuted all your ingenious arguments; but my head is confused.—Right or wrong, I am miserable!
It seems to me, that my conduct has always been governed by the strictest principles of justice and truth.—Yet,
