September 2 + 

But am I dying? I have no presentiments⁠—no conviction⁠—like the people you read of in books. Am I, after all, in love? “I dote yet doubt; suspect yet strongly love.” It is all a matter of degree. Beside Abélard and Héloïse, our love may be just glassy affection. It is a great and difficult question to decide. I love no one else but E⁠⸺, that, at least, is a certainty, and I have never loved anyone more. + 