Letter 70
To Proclus.
For the past year, no letter has come from your sacred hand, and I count that among the many calamities that have fallen on me. I have suffered many griefs in many ways this past year, and now this winter has snatched from me the child who was the last joy remaining to me.
No doubt it was my fate to be happy when I was with you, and to experience nothing but evil fortune when apart. At the very least, may some letter come from your fatherly heart to alleviate my grief — the most precious cargo that could arrive from Thrace.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.
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