Have you made the announcement? or does it not go till to-day? I am not
sorry, since the move comes from her, that we have not to wait now till
February. You will feel better when the storm is up than when it is only
looming. This is the headachy period.
Well. Say "well" with me, dearest! It is going to be well: waiting has
not suited us--not any of us, I think. Your mother is one in a thousand,
I say that and mean it:--worth conquering as all good things are. I
would not wish great fortune to come by too primrosy a way. "Canst thou
draw out Leviathan with a hook?" Even so, for size, is the share of the
world which we lay claim to, and for that we must be toilers of the
deep.--Always, Beloved, your truest and most loving.
LETTER LVI.
My Own Own Love: You have given me a spring day before the buds begin,--
the weather I have been longing for! I had been quite sad at heart these
cold wet days, really _down_;--a treasonable sadness with you still
anywhere in the world (though where in the world have you been?). Spring
seemed such a long way off over the bend of it, with you unable to come;
and it seems now another letter of yours has got lost. (Write it again,
dearest,--all that was in it, with any blots that happened to come:--there
was a dear smudge in to-day's, with the whirlpool mark of your thumb quite
clear on it,--delicious to rest my face against and feel _you_ there.
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