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 know what your opinion is, and that was the reason among others why I wished to see you, if it could be managed.

I wrote before to tell you that Minucius had only paid twelve sestertia: please see that the balance is provided.

Quintus wrote to me not only without any strong appeal for pardon, but in the most bitter style, while his son did so with astonishing malignity. No sorrow can be imagined with which I am not crushed. Yet everything is more bearable than the pain caused by my error: that is supreme and abiding. If I were destined to have the partners in that error that I expected, it would nevertheless be but a poor consolation. But the case of all the rest admits of some escape, mine of none. Some because they were taken prisoners, others because their way was barred, avoid having their loyalty called in question, all the more so, of course, now that they have extricated themselves and joined forces again. Why, even the very men who of their own free will went to Fufius can merely be counted wanting in courage. Finally, there are many who will be taken back, in whatever way they return to that party. So you ought to be the less astonished that I cannot hold up against such violent grief. For I am the only one whose error cannot be repaired, except perhaps Lælius—but what alleviation is that to me?—for they say that even Gaius Cassius has changed his mind about going to Alexandria. I write this to you, not that you may be able to remove my anxiety, but to know whether you have any suggestion to make in regard to the distresses that are sapping my strength, to which are now added my son-in-law, and the rest that I am prevented by my tears from writing. Nay, even Æsop's son wrings my heart. There is absolutely nothing wanting to make me the most unhappy of men. But to return to my first question—what do you think I ought to do? Should I remove secretly