I hear from England that you have dedicated a book to me with too kind
and most touching words. To thank you for such a proof of sympathy, to
thank you from my heart, cannot surely be a wrong thing to do, it seems
so natural and comes from so irresistible an impulse.

I read a book of yours once at Florence, which first made [me] know you
pleasantly, and afterwards (that was at Florence, too) there came a
piercing touch from a hand in the air--whether yours also, I cannot dare
to guess--which has preoccupied me a good deal since. If I speak to you
in mysteries, forgive me. Let it be clear at least, that I am very happy
to be grateful to you for the honor you have done me in your dedication,
and that my husband, moved more, as he always is, by honor paid to me
than to himself, thanks you beside. I will not keep back his thanks,
which are worth more than mine can be.

For the rest, we have, neither of us, seen the book yet, nor even read
an exact copy of the words in question. Only the rumour of them appears
to run that I am 'not likely ever to see you.' And why am I never to see
you, pray? Unlikelier pleasures have been granted to me, and I will not
indeed lose hold of the hope of this pleasure.

Allow it to

Your always obliged
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

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