BRACERS Record Detail for 17139
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"Monday" "My Dearest Dearest this will be only a line, because I don't think it will reach you, but I write on the chance."
BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, 15 MAY 1911
BRACERS 17139. ALS. Morrell papers #68, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.
<letterhead>
Trinity College,
Cambridge.1, 2
Monday May 15. ’11
My Dearest Dearest
This will be only a line, because I don’t think it will reach you, but I write on the chance. Your dear letter of Sat. morning reached me this morning — later in the morning I shall hope for a letter of yesterday. I am afraid the journey tired you a good deal — also I expect you will be very tired on Wednesday. This thundery weather is tiring, apart from travelling — I have been full of queer moods, brought on by the electricity in the air I imagine.
It is rather a trial having letters take so long, but there will be all the more when you are coming home. Tomorrow I go to Carlyle Square in the afternoon — I shall sleep at an Hotel — perhaps you would come there if Bedford Square doesn’t do. But perhaps the Chelsea Cottage will be available.
I am glad you felt it your duty to go down “and be nice” — I hope you were nice, difficult as it is to suppose —
Dearest, your letter is the greatest joy to me. Yes, you are infinitely important to me: my whole life has become centred in you, and would be utterly lost without you. I can no longer imagine at all how I should go on without you — I feel as if all motive would be gone — Yet I think I should go on somehow, unless I had failed you in any way, which I shan’t do. But it would be a miserable maimed existence, and the loss would be life-long. I have been rather tired (I don’t know why) these days, and have kept fancying you had never existed but were just a dream. It seems so likely — you are so unlike the rest of life. I read all your letters over yesterday, and that revived belief in your existence more or less. They are the most wonderful letters — mine seem so stiff and stilted and formal in comparison. O my life, you surely cannot know how much you are to me — you cannot know the black pit of despair you saved me from — I think you do know all the joy you give, because you feel the same. — Now this must be posted. Goodbye, my life and my strength — I am yours, yours in every thought and in every wish.
B.
