used to call him "John Bull let loose."
My love to England. Is it showing much autumn yet? My eyes long for green
fields again. Since I have been in Italy I had not seen one until the
other day from the top of St. Giorgio Maggiore, where one lies in hiding
under the monastery walls.
All that I see now quickens me to fresh thoughts of you. Yet do not expect
me to come back wiser: my last effort at wisdom was to fall in love with
you, and there I stopped for good and all. There I am still, everything
included: what do you want more? My letter and my heart both threaten to
be over-weight, so no more of them this time. Most dearly do I love you.
LETTER XL.
Beloved: If two days slip by, I don't know where I am when I come to
write; things get so crowded in such a short space of time. Where I left
off I know not: I will begin where I am most awake--your letter which I
have just received.
That is well, dearest, that is well indeed: a truce till February! And
since the struggle then must needs be a sharp one--with only one end, as
we know,--do not vex her now by any overt signs of preparation as if you
assumed already that her final arguments were to be as so much chaff
before the wind. You do not tell me _what_ she argues, and I do not ask.
She does not say I shall not love you enough!
To answer businesslike to your questions first: with your forgiveness we
stay here till the 25th, and get back to England with the last of the
month.
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