BRACERS Record Detail for 17182
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"Sat. My Dearest Dearest Your letter this morning was a great joy—your letters always are, but this one was even more so than usual."
BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [10 JUNE 1911]
BRACERS 17182. ALS. Morrell papers #107, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.
<letterhead>
Trinity College,
Cambridge.1, 2
Sat.
My Dearest Dearest
Your letter this morning was a great joy — your letters always are, but this one was even more so than usual. And now I have your lovely flowers, and I have put them in my bedmaker’s jampots with love for each separate one. They look beautiful and bring back your garden with all its profusion of delight. Leibniz and Spinoza on my mantel-piece look at them in surprise — Leibniz with cynical amusement, Spinoza with grave wonder. Thank you a thousand times for them, Darling.
I meant to have written to you in the train, but it was so full that my neighbours would have seen every word I wrote. This place is May-weeking, and looks quite unnatural — crowds had come to the station to meet their sisters, and the rest were eating ices and thinking of balls.
Yes, Darling, it is very hard to part, and it doesn’t get easier. I shall hope that as time goes on we may be together more and more. I think we can both gradually make it easier — especially when I am away from here it will make a difference. I can come any day next week — if you will send me a telegram. I have no engagements at all, except a half-engagement to go to Miss Harrison for tea on Monday, which doesn’t count. I can come day or night or any time. I quite agree about the bird in the hand, so the sooner the better.
No, I have never heard you giving sage advice, but I can very well imagine it. I quite expect to get it some day, when you have got over thinking that as a philosopher I must be wise, however foolish I may seem. — Darling my heart is still too full of you — I can’t find words. I long for you every moment. Yes I am sure years and years would fly as our days do. When I am with you I have such a sense of absolute completion — the feeling that I have what has been lacking in life hitherto. O Dearest I long for your kiss and your arms and to rest with my head on your breast. My Darling, my Life, goodbye. I love you, love you, love you.
B.
