“Oh! it was a happy time, its combinations of solitude and i****t, combined with my lusty youth, for I was only nineteen years old at that time, made me be constantly at her call, and she never went away before her excessive l**t had been satisfied for the moment. Had circumstances permitted her to stay with me longer than she usually did, she would have got more frequent f***s out of me; at night, when she could come, she got ten and sometimes eleven discharges from me, and probably herself spent twice as often. I was indefatigable.
“In all her after-letters to me she constantly avowed grief that she had lost her most loved son; that she was inconsolable, punning on the con in the word, which is French for ‘cunt.’
“Various allusions of that sort were in all her loving letters. Often and
