have queered myself, you know, by going off at half-cock. But would it
queer me? What do you know about it? How can you tell? I might be
put back a few laps--I'm not being flippant, I simply don't know how to
say it--and then, anyhow, I'd be outside the "box," wouldn't I? And in
the freedom--and I could catch up, maybe. Yet, it might be the other
way; I might have shown an "unforgiveable contempt" for my life.
Unforgiveable--by whom? You say God forgives forever--well, I know He
must, if He's a God worth worshipping. So I don't know what you mean
by "unforgiveable." And you don't know if it's my "single, glorious
chance" at life. How can you know? On the other hand, I don't know
but that it is--that's the risk, I suppose--and it is a hideous risk.
I suppose likely you mean that. You see, when it gets down below
Sunday-school lessons and tradition, I don't know much what I do
believe. I'd rather believe in God because everything seems to fly to
pieces in an uncomfortable way if one doesn't. But is that any belief?
As to "faith," that sounds rather nonsense to me. What on earth is
faith if it isn't shutting your eyes and playing you believe what you
really don't believe? Likely I'm an idiot--I suspect that--but I'd
gladly have it proved. And here I am away off from the point and
arguing about huge things that I can't even see across, much less
handle. I beg your pardon; I beg your pardon for all the time I'm
taking and the bother I'm making. Still, I'm going on living till I
get your next letter--I promise, as you ask. I'm glad to promise
because of the first letter, and of the glimpse down a vista, and the
breath of strange, fresh air it seemed to bring. I have an idea that I
stumbled on rather a wonderful person that day I missed the rector. Or
is it possibly just the real belief in a wonderful thing that shines
through you? But then, you're clever besides; I'm clever enough to
know that. Only, don't digress so; don't write a lot of lovely English
about clocks and getting up early. That's not to the point. That