Monday, January 26 1761

…In the evening wrote my London letters. At home all day. My wife, poor creature, very ill. Oh, the tumult in my troubled breast; I must ere long lose the partner of my soul, one with whom I can converse with sincerity and freedom, one not influenced and guided by the unruly dictates of passion and sense, but whose intellectuals are directed by more nobler motive, even that of religion, for to describe her virtues is beyond the power of my pen!

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