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20 Maresfield Gardens
London N.W. 3
April 28, 1939
My dear Marie
I haven't written to you for a long time, while you have been bathing in the blue sea. I assume you know why, can even detect it in my handwriting. (Even the pen is no longer the same; like my doctor and other external organs, it has left me.) I am not well; my illness and the aftermath of the treatment are responsible for this condition, but in what proportion I don't know. People are trying to lull me into an atmosphere of optimism by saying that the carcinoma is shrinking and the symptoms of reacting to the treatment are temporary. I don't believe it and don't like being deceived.
You know that Anna won't be coming to the meeting in Paris because she cannot leave me; I am growing increasingly incapable of looking after myself and more dependent on her. Some kind of intervention that would cut short this cruel process would be very welcome. Should I still look forward to seeing you again at the beginning of May? Your going to St. Tropez has reassured me that Eugénie is well; otherwise you wouldn't have left Paris.
And herewith I greet you warmly; my thoughts are often with you.
Your
Freud