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Ever accustomed to refine upon the sorrows of the moment, I felt how far beyond the stretch of deepest woe is the contempt of self. we thought no one could Ever tell the definition of real greif that had felt it [[underline]] unaccompanied [[/underline]] by remorse.-- It was impossible to feel for a man, more than I had felt for t--Fond imagination always recurred to him in moments of softened solitude--but when I dwelt on his image it was no longer with hope, I considered the whole of our former exquisite attachment as a departed fairy dream on which memory delighted to pause, which fancy arrayed in all her trembling refinements, --but which reason, [[addition]] ^ nor [[/addition]] reality could Ever [[underline]] countenance. [[/underline]] I leap despairing into the arms of fortune, & trust to chance for happiness.--