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He has excused himself; has assured me, even sworn that I am in error. I have refused to believe him. Women are hugely credulous, credulous in the extreme.

I have not seen him this whole week. He came here twice, but was denied entrance, as I ordered. I don't care for the forgiving system. I don't care to become like Martha. &hellip;

However, if I act thus, it is on principle only; in reality, I am tortured by his absence. My feelings incline me to believe that he says true. &hellip; Surely he cannot possibly be thus false to me.

I fear greatly lest, if he should come again &hellip;

No, no.—I am going to call on Wiazewski, who has of late been quite neglectful.

I started by complaining of things in general, and with but little of personal feeling. He has hitherto known nothing about my relations with Witold. And I am also ashamed of this love, in which I have been playing so ludicrous a part.

"...And to think of the years, the golden years of youth, gliding, gliding, gliding by,