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July or August 1780 from Delia
"I
have just received your letter of the 18th, my
dearest friend, what a tender one it is! My heart can feel so
well the value of the touching and most delicate thoughts it
expresses, each line paints a sentiment. Oh, my dearest Jones,
what joy and happiness I will have to see the author of all
these charming letters; they all give me joy. To receive, to
reread them a hundred, a thousand times, to think of you, to
look at your portrait! Even though it does not look like you,
my fond imagination supplies its deficiency and my heart on
which you are engraved with features of fire makes you present;
and I sit for hours gazing through eyes drowned in tears, remain
for entire hours fixed on this cold image of the most cherished
of men, whose absence is driving me to despair.
It was impossible for me to write to you, my friend, for several
days I have been very ill and I am still extremely weak. The
various sorrows I have endured and, the most cruel of all, your
absence, the most cruel of them all, have contributed much to my
recent illness, but I feel better thanks to your delicious
letters and your assurances that I will see you again and your
assurances of unchanged love for me.
You do not tell me the reason of your long stay in Lorient; I am
afraid that the delay will prevent your return, at least for
some time. If this letter, whose destination I envy, arrives
before your departure, tell me something about this matter; the
deep and sincere interest that I take in everything which
concerns you is the only motive of my request, but if it is
indiscreet, you need not satisfy it. Farewell my too cherished
and too dear Jones. Receive the vows of that ardent love, which
will continue until I breathe my last, and the most fervent
prayers that happiness and success may accompany your steps
forever. Farewell, farewell!”
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