Читать книгу Love's Pilgrimage - Upton Sinclair - Страница 15

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There is a dreadful sort of letter which I wrote you last night which I haven’t sent you yet.

I have been studying, or trying to most of the day, and my mind has wandered most painfully. There were two days in which I seemed to have hold of myself, but with an effort that was a fearful strain. I must try so, that it almost kills me, if I wish to accomplish even a little of what I ought. The heat here is almost insupportable, it is stifling, and I spent an hour or so in the water this afternoon.

And the thought is always torture to me—that you are accomplishing so much more than I! I was thinking of your letters to-night, and I recalled some words that seemed to speak more of your love for me. Oh, Thyrsis, if your letters are fiery and passionate, is it for love of me that they are? I’m almost afraid at times, when I read your letters—when you tell me of the kind of woman you want to love.

I at present am certainly not she. And do you know that when we are married we shall be united forever? I don’t know why I write you these things, they are not at all inspiring thoughts to me.

And yet I was able to go in swimming this afternoon, and forget everything and frolic around as happily as any water-baby!