sun is once more shining. But while the cloud is there, I am less heroic.
That which causes me most of my sad moments is his snail-like manner of disappearing into himself. It seems as though he is afraid of coming out too much, of mentally getting too close to me.
Suddenly as we sit happily and cosily together he disappears, and there is only left a reserved and guarded cavalier.
In these moments it seems as if a hundred miles lay between us. Our hands, which have clasped each other's warmly and firmly, slip limply down, and I don't recognise his face and voice any longer. I dream I am with my lover, I wake up to find by my side a stranger who talks to me with forced politeness.
If I dared only ask him why he is like that. Does he fear that I am intriguing against him. If it was not that I don't like even to hint at such a thing, I should say to him, 'You need not be afraid, I don't aspire to be your wife.'
On that point he can rest assured. I have thought it all over, and I have come to the conclusion that even should he propose it, I would refuse to marry him. It would be the greatest pity for us both. Freedom is for him an absolutely necessary condition of life, and I would suffer too much in feeling myself a drag on his foot. I dare not think of the time when it will all be over. When I think that every happy day that is given me is a step nearer that great, dark Nirvana then
G
