p.

4.

It seems to me, my darling, that I tell you very often
how I love you, how I miss you, & almost always in
the same words - I hope it does not seem or sound
like this to you. But, you know, I do not say these things
because I think you want me to - I think & say
them to myself so much, & only way I can say
them to you is in a letter. So even if they do
become monotonous, sweetheart, remember that they
come from the very bottom of my heart. Perhaps,
& I hope I am wrong to have doubts about my letters,
because you have paid me very nice compliments about
them up to now - or at least up to May - You have
told me I do marvels - & that they are very interesting,
loving - & well written. Thankyou darling one - I try
very hard, because I know the pleasure & intense
satisfaction which your letters give to me & I want
so much for mine to do something of the same
for you. But life is so dull & I find it increasingly
difficult to be interesting - & so often when I sit
down to write to you I go into such depths of
misery, longing for you. Today, I look like writing
this straight off & posting it in the morning. But
normally, I think the better system, & I must try to
do it more, is to begin another letter the same
day that I post one to you & try to write some
each day. By that means, I give myself the
feeling of having had a talk with you each day,
& also, odd things which I would write down the
same day or the day after, when they are fresh