For Months, Dear Philip, We have been separated. Oh, how grotesque to my heart So long estranged from my best and dearest friend – To write once more frankly and kindly as I used to – to tell you, Philip all I have felt and to ask your forgiveness if I have been unjust or unkind. I cannot tell you, Philip, all I felt when I received your last letter; for some minutes the --- had broken and the letter unopen’d At last after determining I would believe all whatever you might write had just and “for the best” I looked and found, Dear Philip, nothing but kindness and affection. When I wrote last August it was unnatural and almost impossible for me to carry through such an air of coldness but I succeeded by keeping constantly before me my impurities – whether imaginary, Philip, or real. Of course since I cannot complain of, for it you deserved the coldness of the rest of my letter, my (assumed) indifference about your writing “at present” was sufficient cause for your showing resentment. Your total neglect of my letter, and at last your verses, convinced me, Philip, that “I was alone” and convinced me though too late for my happiness I still loved you and must ever love you most sincerely Philip, I would give the world were it mine to see you now instead of writing this letter. I have twice since I received yours written half a page or more but dissatisfied with every expression have torn it to pieces. I shall succeed no better now for every feeling I have not express – At times, the past summer.