novel

the chapter in this novel

this novel, I hope, will come to an end. the way I feel toward femineas is an aptitude of unworthiness. I do not want to reread this novel for it will make my petrified heart precipitate once again. precipitation from a petrified heart is of no pleasantries. sorrowfulness will engulf me to the point of sorrows spilling from eyes. this chapter I do not like thinking about and hope not to reread. I must not have been as gentry as I thought I was thus she left. I don't recall the reason for our parting. I must have been that terrible of a mate. Sum mitissimus.