March 27, 11 at night
`` Adieu ! Yours , A. Fermor . '' To Mrs. Temple , Pall Mall . Quebec , March 27 , 11 at night . She is an angel , my dear Lucy , and no words can do her justice : I am the happiest of mankind ; I painted my passion with all the moving eloquence of undissembled love ; she heard me with the most flattering attention ; she said little , but her looks , her air , her tone of voice , her blushes , her very silence -- how could I ever doubt her tenderness ? have not those lovely eyes a thousand times betrayed the dear secret of her heart ? My Lucy , we were formed for each other ; our souls are of intelligence ; every thought , every idea -- from the first moment I beheld her -- I have a thousand things to say , but the tumult of my joy -- she has given me leave to write to her ; what has she not said in that permission ?