This is the mere postscript to the letter I have just sent away. By a few minutes too late, comes what I have all day been waiting for, .. & besides (now it is just too late!) now I may have a skein of silk if I please, to make that knot with, .. for want of which, two locks, meant for you, have been devoted to the infernal gods already .. fallen into a tangle & thrown into the fire .. & all the hair of my head might have followed, for I was losing my patience & temper fast, .. & the post to boot. So wisely I shut my letter, (after unwisely having driven everything to the last moment!)—& now I have silk to tie fast with .. to tie a ‘nodus’ .. ‘dignus’['a knot come worthy'] of the celestial interposition—& a new packet shall be ready to go to you directly."
I should love to see Miss Barrett lose her temper. Do you suppose, despite all her shy ways, that when really torqued she swore like a sailor and made emphatic gestures with her fingers the way the bowmen did at Agincourt?
"At last I remember to tell you that the first letter you had from me this week, was forgotten, (not by me) forgotten, & detained, so, from the post—a piece of carelessness which Wilson came to confess to me too frankly for me to grumble as I should have done otherwise.
For the staying longer, I did not mean to say you were wrong not to stay. In the first place you were keeping your father ‘in a maze’, as you said yourself—& then, even without that, I never know what o’-clock it is .. never. Mr Kenyon tells me that I must live in a dream—which I do.—time goes .. seeming to go round rather than go forward. The watch I have, broke its spring two years ago, & there, I leave it in the drawer .. & the clocks all round, strike out of hearing, or at best, when the wind brings the sound, one upon another in a confusion. So you know more of time than I do or can."
There is a major gift hint. Men, pay attention to these little hints. It helps around birthdays, anniversaries and corporately mandated gift days like Valentines and Mothers Day.
"Till monday then! I send the ‘Ricordi’ to take care of the rest .. of mine. It is a touching story—& there is an impracticable nobleness from end to end in the spirit of it. How slow (to the ear & mind) that Italian rhetoric is! a language for dreamers & declaimers. Yet Dante made it for action—& Machiavelli’s prose can walk & strike as well as float & faint.
The ring is smaller than I feared at first, & may perhaps.—
Now you will not say a word. My excuse is that you had nothing to remember me by, while I had this & this & this & this .. had much too much!
If I could be too much
And DO NOT SPEAK ABOUT THE HAIR OR RING! DO NOT YOU DO IT!