experience connected with the fact of my long separation from you gives me agonies which are scarcely to be talked of。 When your mother es I shall be very sudden and expert in asking her whether you have been to Mrs。 Dilke's； for she might say no to make me easy。 I am literally worn to death； which seems my only recourse。 I cannot forget what has passed。 What？ nothing with a man of the world； but to me dreadful。
I will get rid of this as much as possible。 When you were in the habit of flirting with Brown you would have left off； could your own heart have felt one half of one pang mine did。 Brown is a good sort of Man—he did not know he was doing me to death by inches。 I feel the effect of every one of those hours in my side now； and for that cause； though he has done me many services； though I know his love and friendship for me； though at this moment I should be without pence were it not for his assistance； I will never see or speak to him until we are both old men； if we are to be。 I will resent my heart having been made a football。 You will call this madness。 I have heard you say that it was not unpleasant to wait a few years—you have amusements—your mind is away—you have not brooded over one idea as I have； and how should you？
You are to me an object intensely desireable—the air I breathe in a room empty of you is unhealthy。 I am not the same to you—no—you can wait—you have a thousand activities—you can be happy without me。 Any party； any thing to fill up t