I don't feel able.

And I know John would think it absurd. But I MUST say
what I feel and think in some way--it is such a relief!

But the effort is getting to be greater than the relief.

Half the time now I am awfully lazy, and lie down ever so
much.

John says I musn't lose my strength, and has me take cod
liver oil and lots of tonics and things, to say nothing of ale
and wine and rare meat.

Dear John! He loves me very dearly, and hates to have me
sick. I tried to have a real earnest reasonable talk with him
the other day, and tell him how I wish he would let me go and
make a visit to Cousin Henry and Julia.

But he said I wasn't able to go, nor able to stand it after
I got there; and I did not make out a very good case for myself,
for I was crying before I had finished.

It is getting to be a great effort for me to think straight.
Just this nervous weakness I suppose.

And dear John gathered me up in his arms, and just carried
me upstairs and laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read to me
till it tired my head.