Since surely somewhere in this great world there is a man or woman to
whom these letters will have poignant meaning, I have come to the
conclusion that it will be well, on the whole, to publish extracts
from them, hoping they will be claimed. I am doing so, leaving them
much as they were written, with some excisions and few changes, but
yet so no one except those concerned could possibly recognize them.
If by some miracle the little lady, who perhaps was Polly herself, and
who gave me her old love letters, still lives, I believe she will
want them. If she perished on that Good Friday night, or if for
reasons of her own, she wishes to remain silent, I hope to be forgiven
for publishing them but I feel that I have done only what was my duty.