In a very few years I
shall be so old that you will not be able to realise that there was a
time when I was "the one woman in the world" for you. I am not harping
on your youth in order to vex you--your youth that you hate for my sake!
I know that you are not fickle; but I know, too, that the laws of life
and the march of time are alike inexorable.
When I enter the new home you have planned for me, a lonely and divorced
woman, I shall think of you every day, and my thoughts will speak more
cordial thanks than I can set down coldly in black and white on this
paper.
I do not forbid you to write to me, but, save for a word of farewell, I
would prefer your silence. No letters exchanged between us could bring
back so much as a reflection of the happy hours we have spent together.
Hours in which we talked of everything, and chiefly of nothing at all.
I do not think we were very brilliant when we were together; but we were
never bored. If my absence brings you suffering, disappointment,
grief--lose yourself in your work, so that in my solitude I may still be
proud of you.
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