Because I know otherwise tender-hearted and good women are capable of
such acts, I am glad you have obeyed my wish of seven years ago, and
that all proofs of your boyish infatuation for an older woman are
destroyed. You say you have told the girl you love that you once were
foolishly fond of me, and that I helped you to higher ideals of
womanhood and life.
That is wise and well, since you found her to be broad and sensible
enough to share such a confidence. But had she seen your written words
to me and my reply, it would have been less agreeable to her than to
hear your own calm recital of the now dead passion.
Words written in a state of high-wrought intensity retain a sort of
phosphoric luminosity, like certain decaying substances, and even after
the passage of years, and when the emotions which gave them expression
are dead and for-gotten, they seem to emit life and feeling.
_Burn your bridges as you walk along the highways of romance to St.
Benedict's land_.
Since you compliment me by saying I have helped you to higher ideals of
life, will you allow me to give you a little advice regarding your
treatment of your wife?
You have every reason to know that I have been a happy and well-loved
wife of the man of my choice.
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