And now, dear sister, I must leave this house or the retreating army will make me a prisoner in it by filling up the road I am directed to take.
Our private property must be sacrificed.
I would rather fight with my hands than my tongue.
Two messengers covered with dust come to bid me fly, but I wait for him.
When I shall again write to you, or where I shall be tomorrow, I cannot tell.
It is one of my sources of happiness never to desire a knowledge of other people's business.