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Saturday, 29 August, 1829

My mind is in a whirlpool. My companion is quite unwell. I have much business I ought to do. She, of course, unwilling that I should leave the house. And my situation requires attention to every call. But bear and lament. If I mention of going away, it is at once declared, "You care not for me." Every anticipated action is tortured into something uncommendable.