I trust that you go on to take exercise--and that your mother is still
better. Occy's worst symptom now is too great an appetite ... a
monster-appetite indeed.
_R.B. to E.B.B._
Tuesday.
[Post-mark, November 4, 1845.]
Only a word to tell you Moxon promises the books for to-morrow,
Wednesday--so towards evening yours will reach you--'parve liber, sine
me ibis' ... would I were by you, then and ever! You see, and know,
and understand why I can neither talk to you, nor write to you _now_,
as we are now;--from the beginning, the personal interest absorbed
every other, greater or smaller--but as one cannot well,--or should
not,--sit quite silently, the words go on, about Horne, or what
chances--while you are in my thought.
But when I have you ... so it seems ... _in_ my very heart; when you
are entirely with me--oh, the day--then it will all go better, talk
and writing too.
Love me, my own love; not as I love you--not for--but I cannot write
that. Nor do I ask anything, with all your gifts here, except for the
luxury of asking. Withdraw nothing, then, dearest, from your