p.

your letters so very much. They are so beautifully loving
& affectionate & sweet & make me feel so happy
& content that you love me & need me, & so full
of thrilling hope & expectation for the future - they
are so interesting & intelligent & sensible & so amusing
in many places - so nice & chatty & easy too. You
have a wonderful style of writing. Your letters are so
much better than mine in every way, I feel - I
only hope that mine are good enough for one who
writes so well herself.
In your most recent letter, received before these
last three, you asked me if I did not agree that
you & I are completely bound to each other by our love
& then bound again by our suffering together over Lisa,
& again by this awful parting of course. I agree, my
darling. And in one of today's letters you told me
about Juliette's troubles - & said that you would take
action, violently, if ever I showed signs of having "solutions"
out here - please to tell you in every letter that
I love you, my sweetest beloved darling - I love you
with all my heart & body & soul, & there never can or
never will be anyone else for sure. I will tell
you all about it. The fact of our darling Lisa dying &
being taken away from us does not make me love you
any more or have any direct affect on my contancy -
but that does not prevent me from feeling that
if anything or any body ever did come between us, she
& our lovely memory of her would have the effect
of pulling us together again. It is rather a religious
feeling really - as though the little sweetheart is