impute it to our
having been at sea a fortnight without making any way. I was very
disappointed at not meeting you at Bedhampton, and am very
provoked at the thought of you being at Chichester to-day.[10] I
should have delighted in setting off for London for the sensation
merely--for what should I do there? I could not leave my lungs or
stomach or other worse things behind me.

"I wish to write on subjects that will not agitate me much. There
is one I must mention, and have done with it. Even if my body
would recover of itself, this would prevent it. The very thing
which I want to live most for will be a great occasion of my
death. I cannot help it--who can help it? Were I in health, it
would make me ill, and how can I bear it in my state? I daresay
you will be able to guess on what subject I am harping: you know
what was my greatest pain during the first part of my illness at
your house. I wish for death every day and night to deliver me
from these pains; and then I wish death away, for death would
destroy even those pains, which are better than nothing. Land and
sea, weakness and decline, are great separators; but death is the
great divorcer for ever. When the pang of this thought has passed
through my mind, I may say the bitterness of death is past. I
often wish for you, that you might flatter me with the best.

"I think, without my mentioning it, for my sake you would be a
friend to Miss Brawne when I am dead. You think she has many
faults: but for my sake think she has not one. If there is
anything you can do for her by word or deed, I know you will do
it. I am in a state at present in which woman, merely as woman,
can have no more power over me than stocks and stones; and yet
the difference of my sensations with respect to Miss Brawne and
my sister is amazing. The one seems to absorb the other to a
degree incredible. I seldom think of my brother and sister in
America. The thought of leaving Miss Brawne is beyond everything
horrible--the sense of darkness coming over me--I eternally see
her figure eternally vanishing. Some of the phrases she was in
the habit of using during my last nursing at Wentworth Place ring
in my ears. Is there another life? Shall I awake and find all
this a dream? There must be--we cannot be created for this sort
of suffering. The receiving this letter is to be one of yours.