I think, too, that if he can possibly finish it, he will be able to
go away with a greater content upon him, with the satisfaction that
only achievement brings. It is, in fact, very long since he last
completed anything.
And then I shall take him away, I, in his full content, to the
sunshine, to the land of dreams.
There are still some things I can hardly realise.
Good-bye, dearest.
EMILIA.
LETTER XXXIV.
GRAYSMILL, March 20th.
My beloved Constance, I am glad your letter of this morning has made
me a little unhappy; I have been a selfish brute, thinking of none
but myself, and him. I little thought, whilst I lay basking in the
sun, that you stood there shrouded in densest fog. I wish I had
written every day, you poor sweet!
But now I have evolved a plan, and Gabriel thinks with me that it is
a good one. You will find me rather prosaic, yet indeed, sweetheart,
I think you cannot be well; these doleful dumps have nothing in
common with your nature.
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