The epistolary muse offers its own bond. I might die in the night, so I will write to William now. She also admires the love he displays for his family. You write so beautifully about your daughters and I would like to think you would write more than in letters. Mine is a ruthless sex.
Childhood is a constant in their correspondence.
I felt that we had played together as children. But for pleasure in words and in encouraging the words of another writer, let us read a cable Maxwell sent upon receiving a story of hers, as her editor and first reader. When you read how she craved for flattery and commendation you will understand how gratefully I lick up yours. From eye to eye and skin to skin. A cousin of love-making.