Heloise says:
“By chance, dearest, someone recently brought me your letter written as a consolation to a friend. Considering it at once to be yours by the very front of the title greeting, I took it to read so eagerly since I dearly embrace the writer himself, so that I may at least be renewed by the words of the one whose presence I have lost, just as by a certain image of him. Everything was filled, I remember, with gall and wormwood, which was namely referring, my only, to the sad story or our conversion and your assiduous troubles.”
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