Читать книгу "Not I, but the Wind..." - Frieda von Richthofen Lawrence - Страница 12

Tuesday—

Now I can’t stand it any longer, I can’t. For two hours I haven’t moved a muscle—just sat and thought. I have written a letter to E.... You needn’t, of course, send it. But you must say to him all I have said. No more dishonour, no more lies. Let them do their—silliest—but no more subterfuge, lying, dirt, fear. I feel as if it would strangle me. What is it all but procrastination. No, I can’t bear it, because it’s bad. I love you. Let us face anything, do anything, put up with anything. But this crawling under the mud I cannot bear.

I’m afraid I’ve got a fit of heroics. I’ve tried so hard to work—but I can’t. This situation is round my chest like a cord. It mustn’t continue. I will go right away, if you like. I will stop in Metz till you get E ...’s answer to the truth. But no, I won’t utter or act or willingly let you utter or act, another single lie in the business.

I’m not going to joke, I’m not going to laugh, I’m not going to make light of things for you. The situation tortures me too much. It’s the situation, the situation I can’t stand—no, and I won’t. I love you too much.

Don’t show this letter to either of your sisters—no. Let us be good. You are clean, but you dirty your feet. I’ll sign myself as you call me—Mr. Lawrence.

Don’t be miserable—if I didn’t love you I wouldn’t mind when you lied.

But I love you, and Lord, I pay for it.