I have written to her, but I can not direct the epistle because her name is one of those nine-jointed Russian affairs, and there are not letters enough in our alphabet to hold out.
I am not reckless enough to try to pronounce it when I am awake, but I make a stagger at it in my dreams, and get up with the lockjaw in the morning.

I am fading.

I do not take my meals now, with any sort of regularity.

Her dear name haunts me still in my dreams.

It is awful on teeth.