JOERGEN MALTHE,
You are the only man I ever loved. And now, by means of this letter, I
am digging a fathomless pit between us. I am not the woman you thought
me; and my true self you could never love.
I am like a criminal who has had recourse to every deceit to avoid
confession, but whose strength gives way at last under the pressure of
threats and torture, and who finds unspeakable relief in declaring his
guilt.
Joergen Malthe, I have loved you for the last ten years; as long, in
fact, as you have loved me. I lied to you when I denied it; but my heart
has been faithful all through.
Had I remained any longer in Richard's house, I should have come to you
one day and asked you to let me be your mistress. Not your wife. Do not
contradict me. I am the stronger and wiser of the two.
To escape from this risk I ran away. I fled from my love--I fled, too,
from my age. I am now forty-three, you know it well, and you are only
thirty-five.
By this voluntary renunciation, I hoped to escape the curse that
advancing age brings to most women.
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