After my mistress was dead, I lived most comfortably, my master having a great affection for me.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
When I was nearly twelve years old, my kind mistress sickened and died.
My mother was a good mistress to her servants, taking care of them in their sicknesses, not sparing any cost she was able to bestow for their recovery.
My beautiful wife is dead. She meant everything to me. Her laughter, her tears and her joy will remain with me the rest of my life.
I've lived with women, loved women, lost women. They've loved me, lost me, whatever.
I could only try to comfort the women that I came face-to-face with. I was really moved by how much they wanted to talk, how much they needed to be comforted, and how happy they were that we were there.
The place of my birth, and residence for nearly sixteen years, in the early part of my life, became endeared to my feelings and affections; and more especially so after I had quitted it for an unknown place, and to associate with strangers.
My mother was a passionate, complicated, sometimes fierce woman.
My greatest environments in which I can grow, or grow up, is in personal romantic relationships with a man.
For years, my master had done his utmost to pollute my mind with foul images, and to destroy the pure principles inculcated by my grandmother, and the good mistress of my childhood.
In all of my possessions, in all moments, whether hard or happy, I was accompanied by my dear wife, Lilly, who supported me wholeheartedly.