“I am writing in the attic; I chose it because one can see Belmotte from the window. At first I thought I would sit on the mound, but I saw that would be too much-there I should keep re-living it all instead of writing about it. And I must set it down today so that I shall have it for ever, intact and lovely, untouched by the sadness that is coming—for, of course it is coming; my brain tells me that. I thought it would have come by this morning but it hasn’t-oh, so much it hasn’t that I can’...t quite believe it ever will! Is it wrong of me to feel so happy his Perhaps I ought even to feel guilty his No. I didn’t make it happen, and it can’t hurt anyone but me. Surely I have a right to my joy? For as long as it lasts …. It is like a flowering in the heart, a stirring of wings oh if only I could write poetry, as I did when I was a child! I have tried, but the words were as cheap as a sentimental song. So I tore them up.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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