A LETTER
“Dear B. G.
“They tell me I have had some sort of a fit, but it has passed now. Apparently my father was liable to them, so that anyway I have one behind me after this. But it is so divine to be in London again near to you, and with the sun shining down on me as I lie in bed as if it had never shone before, while underneath, in the street, the traffic glides past in busy vibrations, I am so happy to be in the centre of things again, and to be alive. How stimulating a town is—but perhaps you think me silly. You have led such a different life to mine, I hardly know what you think or feel. Come around and look me up again, you know how I love talking. I have had a wonderful experience. I am going to settle down to writing now, I have a lot to tell. Mamma read me your article in the “New World” and it was wonderful—really, I mean, for that is not flattery. Why am I so happy to-day?
“Yrs.,
“John.”
THE END
Transcriber’s Note
This transcription is based on images made available by the University of California and Google:
books.google.com/books?id=0gMFAQAAIAAJ