Your girl has been so ‘down’ to-day, so appallingly ‘low.’ I knew I could not expect a letter—and cannot until Monday. Monday is 11,500 miles away…. How I loathed being here alone! It gives me nothing really. This place is only tolerable because of you, and even then it never inspires….

Mrs. H. called and asked me to come to a Sale of Work on behalf of the Seamen's Mission. Her thread glove squeezed my hand…. Her father was vicar here forty years … she is a Widow…. A girl called and asked if I felt inclined to subscribe to the Red Cross…. Little Keverns and parties from Kevern … “Please, Mrs. Murry, can I go through?” … And then a Mr. Watson with a boat for sale … £9 with a centre keel, etc., etc…. And that grocer and the oil boy … and Mary has broken the Primus…. And Mr. Mustard says we use more than our fair share of water from the pump. That from him!

Then came your telegram which meant evidently that we'll be in a state of suspense until Thursday at earliest and dear only knows when I shall be in London. Do you want me? Would you love to have me? I want to reach out my hand and take yours and say, “Oh I should have come. What is £2 10s. to us?”

Oh, I could cry, I could cry, to-night. I'll write no more.