“Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as I was ashamed to put my name to. The original was all her own⁠—her own happy thoughts and gentle diction. But what could I do! We were engaged, everything in preparation, the day almost fixed⁠—but I am talking like a fool. Preparation! Day! In honest words, her money was necessary to me, and in a situation like mine, anything was to be done to prevent a rupture. And after all, what did it signify to my character in the opinion of Marianne and her friends, in what language my answer was couched? It must have been only to one end. My business was to declare myself a scoundrel, and whether I did it with a bow or a bluster was of little importance. ‘I am ruined forever in their opinion,’ said I to myself: ‘I am shut out forever from their society, they already think me an unprincipled fellow, this letter will only make them think me a blackguard one.’ Such were my reasonings, as, in a sort of desperate carelessness, I copied my wife’s words, and parted with the last relics of Marianne. Her three notes⁠—unluckily they were all in my pocketbook, or I should have denied their existence, and hoarded them forever⁠—I was forced to put them up, and could not even kiss them.