rs which go into the fire one after the other, and which,
because I am a woman and have written verses, it seems so amusing to
the letter-writers of your sex to write and see 'what will come of
it,' ... some, from kind good motives I know, ... well, ... how could
it all make for me even such a narrow strip of sunshine as Flush finds
on the floor sometimes, and lays his nose along, with both ears out in
the shadow? It was not for _me_ ... _me_ ... in any way: it was not
within my reach--I did not seem to touch it as I said. Flush came
nearer, and I was grateful to him ... yes, grateful ... for not being
tired! I have felt grateful and flattered ... yes flattered ... when
he has chosen rather to stay with me all day than go down-stairs.
Grateful too, with reason, I have been and am to my own family for not
letting me see that I was a burthen. These are facts. And now how am I
to feel when you tell me what you have told me--and what you 'could
would and will' do, and _shall not_ do?... but when you tell me?

Only remember that such words make you freer and freer--if you can be
freer than free--just as every one makes me happier and richer--too
rich by you, to claim any debt. May God bless you always. When I wrote
that letter to let you come the first time, do you know, the tears ran
down my cheeks.... I could not tell why: partly it might be mere
nervousness. And then, I was vexed with you for wishing to come as
other people did, and vexed with myself for not being able to refuse
you as I did them.

When does the book come out? Not on the first, I begin to be glad.

Ever yours,

E.B.B.

I trust that you go on to take exercise--and that your mother is still
better. Occy's worst symptom now is too great an appetite ... a
monster-appetite indeed.

_R.B. to E.B.B._

Tuesday.
[Post-mark, November 4, 1845.]

Only a word to tell you Moxon promises the books for to-morrow,
Wednesday--so towards evening yours will reach you--'parve liber, sine
me ibis' ... would I were by you, then and ever! You see, and know,
and understand why I can neither talk to you, nor write to you _now_,
as we are now;--from the beginning, the personal interest absorbed
every other, greater or smaller--but as one cannot well,--or should
not,--sit quite silently, the words go on, about