BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [8 JULY 1911]
BRACERS 17221. ALS. Morrell papers #141, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.

Upper Wyche.1^, 2
Sat. night.

My Dearest Dearest

Your little line reached me tonight — it was very good of you to write it. But I see I must scratch things out more carefully another time! I was afraid of having given you pain by saying so much about children — it is not hard to put the matter out of my mind. — I have so long had the superstitious feeling of being born for tragedy that it still surprises me to find happiness, and instinctively I feel the gods must have some punishment in store for me. No doubt that feeling will vanish — it is already much less than it was, but once in a way it comes on. And I feel so immeasurably less lovable than you are that it seems still quite strange and mysterious that you should love me. This must sound like cant, but it really is the exact truth of what I feel. I suppose it is love really that makes one feel unworthy. I never feel my love is unworthy of you, because I know it isn’t, but I feel there is so much else, and so many gaps — and altogether one would wish to be more splendid so as to be a better offering.

North and I are slightly less congenial than before, and I think he has found it out. The reason is that he has a life of great struggle and self-control, and I also had formerly, and he felt the similarity — now I should feel a humbug if I talked as I used to, not from any change of opinion, but because I am not having a life of difficult self-control, and North finds less echo to his difficulties.

He would I think be a good deal shocked if he knew — his views are simple and direct and crude, and they would not otherwise pull him through. He has been attacking me for thinking ill of parsons. At present he likes anybody who preaches morals. I can’t talk frankly to him because I think his crudeness useful to him, so it makes a difficulty. All this is very vague, and I don’t know whether he feels it at all consciously, but I know it exists. He has not the religion of truth, but the religion of not hurting people and doing what good he can. He would rather be chaste than think the exact truth about chastity; with me it was always the other way. His way round is better, I think, except for people who are going to make a business of trying to get at the truth.

Young men who want to live decently have a frightfully hard time — it must be difficult for women to know how hard. At that age one’s instincts never give one any rest day or night. All one’s thoughts and feelings are coloured by them. — Now it is late and I must go to bed. Goodnight my Darling. I hope you are not very tired. Already it seems an age since yesterday. Dearest, I love you absolutely and utterly.

Your
B.

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