Thank you for the book. I thank you for your friendship--and much
besides. This is to say good-by at the end of a pleasant
correspondence in which your woman's prerogative of having the last
word is denied to you. Before I could receive it I shall be gone. But
some time, somewhere, I hope to hear from you again. Yes, I shall go
into Mexico with a pretty definite purpose, which, however, is not at
present disclosable. You must try to forgive my obstinacy in not
"perishing" where I am. I want to be where something worth while is
going on, or where nothing whatever is going on. Most of what is going
on in your own country is exceedingly distasteful to me.
Pray for me? Why, yes, dear--that will not harm either of us. I loathe
religions, a Christian gives me qualms and a Catholic sets my teeth on
edge, but pray for me just the same, for with all those faults upon
your head (it's a nice head, too), I am pretty fond of you, I guess.
May you live as long as you want to, and then pass smilingly into the
darkness--the good, good darkness.
Devotedly your friend,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
[The Olympia, Euclid Street, Washington, D. C.,
October 1, 1913.]