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Francesca darling,
It is very doubtful if I shall manage to write anything at all as I have by my side Parthenope painting, sworn to vows of silence, absolute and eternal, till released by me. But the Trappist vows are, I find, not absolute but relative when it comes to practice, so do not be surprised if this letter is disjointed and has a harassed and worried tone. I can't stop writing even for a moment as it is the signal for an outburst of requests, questions and so on. The silences are of much the same duration as the ‘bright intervals’ we hear about these days.
I woke up at what I thought was five minutes to nine but only to discover, on closer inspection, that it was a quarter to eleven, having slept like a log from the moment I dropped my head on the pillow. Pretty late it is true. I tried to ring up Sutherland before lunch but found he was out – at least the phone remained unanswered. But I did get Trist, complaining bitterly of overwork, who was very pleased at the news.
Bless you my dearest sweetheart for all you are. How much you mean to me I cannot say: I want to feel that I shall be able to go on trying to find ways of saying it through the years.
I wonder if I shall be able to get on the track of a ring at all tomorrow. I want to find a ring which does not show all its secrets to the stranger. It would be wonderful if we could find one with a deep richness that made you feel it had a fire glowing within it to warm your heart and make you feel: The man that gave me this loves me for myself alone and forever.
Parthenope's silence has been a tour de force but if you are at the receiving end of it it is not conducive to concentration. The actual moments when she is not talking are even worse than the questions, it is so painful to see the agonized efforts required to refuse utterance to the latest inspiration.
My love dear.