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From this summer dates a humorous letter,
which I quote as characteristic of Sonia’s satirical
vein. She was never very careful with her
letters or tidy with anything, so when I sent her
confidential letters, I used to warn her very
seriously not to leave them open on the table.
Once she answered as follows :—
‘Poor Ann Charlotte, the fear that your letters
might fall into the wrong hands seems to have
become a chronic disease with you. The
symptoms of your illness get more and more
alarming, and I am beginning to get very
uneasy about you. I cannot help thinking that
a person with such an illegible hand-writing as
yours ought to feel at ease on this point. I
assure you, except a few persons who have a
direct interest in the matter, scarcely anybody
would have patience to decipher your pot-hooks.
As for your last letter, of course it went wrong
the first time at the post-office. When I got it
at last, with its blot on the envelope, I made
haste to spread it on my table for the inspection
of my servants and the whole G. family. They
all found it particularly well written and most
interesting. To-day I mean to pay a visit to
Professor Mouton, as I wish to speak to him
about translations from the Polish. I shall take
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