Capitolo 16
pleasant diversion.
The envelope was certainly fat. As he lacerated him/it opens, three or four
folded up papers as sleep-dust, duly numbered entirely, " 1 A. M."," 2
A. M."," 3 A. M."," 4 A. M." it fell out of him. With increasing him
curiosity he drew before the same letter.
"Dear Honey", rather audaciously says the letter. Absurd as it was, the
sentence curled the heart of alone Stanton the merest trifle.
"DEAR HONEY:
"I am there so a lot of things on Your illness that worries me.
Yes there is! I worry me about Your pain. I worry around the
horrid food that you are probably finding. I worry around the
the coldness of Your room. But the most greater part of anything in the world me
worry about Your _sleeplessness_. Clearly You _do not
sleep! That is the trouble with rheumatism. Old man is such
Night-grumbler. Does he/she now know what I will do to you?
I will evolve me in a kind of one Rheumatic nights
Fun--for the you sole and explicit purpose to try
to while by some of Your long times, ax. Because if
You simply have _got_ to be him you wake up the whole night and
you think--you were able well in the moment in which you/he/she is thinking about me Carl,
Stanton. Thing? You challenge smile and it suggests for a moment
what solo because of the absence among us I cannot do
me vivid to You? I have! Foolish boy! Doesn't do you he/she knows that the
kind of black ink beats more clearly more than of the blood--and
the softest touch of the hand is a comparative sour caress to
the touch of a reasonably aware pen? Here--I now, say--this
a lot of moment: You lift this the letter of mine to Your face, and
curse--if you are honestly able to--that you cannot smell the
colors of rose in my hair! A rose color cinnamon, you say--a yellow,
done gnaw color cinnamon and done flat-face? Not rather this way fragrant lusciously
how those in July of Your grandmother makes some gardening? A trifle paler?
Perceptibly the cooler? Anything forced in flower, perhaps,