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"I besought him, if he knew what really ailed her, that he would tell me. At last he said, 'Does she not know herself that the malady is a mental one -- that it is, in one word, love? Do you not see how her swelled eyes, her unsettled look, her pale countenance, betray the wounded heart? Her thoughts wander, her discourse is unconnected, she gets no sleep, and visibly falls away; some relief must be sought for, but he alone for whom she pines can, I think, afford it."
From The Aethiopica by Heliodorus, 3rd century AD
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