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what his motives could have been, to rob me of a paper he had allowed to be very essential to me, after the death of the good Abbe, was a doubt, the solution of which tortured me almost to madness. Yet so fervent was my affection—so perfect my confidence in the love and honour of my husband, that I strove even against conviction to believe I wronged him by my suspicions, and endeavoured to support my spirits until the following day, when, as I expected to hear from him, so I intended to write, and inform him of this extraordinary event.
