15, WHITTINGTON TERRACE
5th Oct., 1929
Oh, Petra, I am so frightened. Darling, something dreadful has happened.
I’m sure—I’m almost quite sure. Do you remember when I said Nature
couldn’t revenge herself? Oh, but she can and _has_, Petra. What shall I
do? I’ve tried things, but it’s no good, Petra, you’ve _got_ to help me.
I never thought of this—we were so careful—but something must have
gone wrong. Petra, darling, I can’t face it. I shall kill myself. He’ll
find out—he must find out, and he’ll be so cruel, and it will all be
too terrible.
Petra, I was so desperate I tried to make him—don’t be angry, Petra—I
mean, I tried to be nice to him and make him love me, but it wasn’t any
good. I don’t know what he will do to me when he discovers the truth.
Darling, darling, do _something_—anything! I can’t think of any way,
but there must be one, somehow. Everybody will know, and there will be a
frightful fuss and scandal. And even if we got a divorce, it wouldn’t be
in time—they are so slow in those dreadful courts. But I don’t expect
he would divorce me. He would just smother it all up and be cruel to me.
I don’t know. I feel so ill, and I can’t sleep. He asked me what was the
matter with me to-day. I’d been crying and I looked simply awful. Petra,
my dearest, what _can_ we do? How cruel God is! He must be on the
conventional people’s side after all. Do write quickly and tell me what
to do. And don’t, don’t be angry with me, darling, for getting you into
this trouble. I couldn’t help it. Write to me or come to me—I shall go
mad with worry. If you love me at all, Petra, you must help me now.