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grief to myself, take care not to commit myself
in society, and avoid becoming the subject of
gossip. I have had many invitations this week
. . . . but I feel too wretched to-day to give
you an account of all these festivities. . . . When
I come home, I keep walking up and down in
my room. I can neither eat nor sleep, and my
whole nervous system is in a deplorable state. I
don’t know if I should care for a temporary
dispensation from official work. . . .
‘Good-bye for the present, dearest Gösta. Be
always my friend; I am deeply in need of it,
you may be sure. Give my love to Foufi, and
thank S. for all the trouble she takes with her.—
Yours, with warm affection.
‘S.’
She made up her mind to ask for a release
from work for the spring term, and remained in
Paris, whence she wrote to me:—
‘Above all, let me congratulate you upon your
great happiness. . . . It has long been evident
to me that your destiny was happiness, mine
continual struggle. Strangely enough, the
longer I live the more I feel inclined to believe
in fatalism, or rather, in determinism. More
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