When one paints, one loves in a different way. Often, I see him from the inside, or in the faces of others. I say to myself that if I still think of him, then perhaps he still thinks of me.
Dearest Meg, I'm having a glorious time. I like them all. They are the very happiest, jolliest family that you can imagine. The fun of it is that they think me a noodle, and say so - at least, Mr. Wilcox does. Oh Meg, should we ever learn to talk less.