Letter LXXIX

Dearest: I have not written to you for three weeks. At last I am better
again. You seem to have been waiting for me here: always wondering when I
would come back. I do come back, you see.

Dear heart, how are you? I kiss your feet; you are my one only happiness,
my great one. Words are too cold and cruel to write anything for me.
Picture me: I am too weak to write more, but I have written this, and am
so much better for it.

Reward me some day by reading what is here. I kiss, because of you, this
paper which I am too tired to fill any more.

Love, nothing but love! Into every one of these dead words my heart has
been beating, trying to lay down its life and reach to you.

Chapter 79