He said I was his darling and his comfort and all he had,
and that I must take care of myself for his sake, and keep well.

He says no one but myself can help me out of it, that I must
use my will and self-control and not let any silly fancies run
away with me.

There's one comfort, the baby is well and happy, and does
not have to occupy this nursery with the horrid wall-paper.

If we had not used it, that blessed child would have! What
a fortunate escape! Why, I wouldn't have a child of mine, an
impressionable little thing, live in such a room for worlds.

I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that John kept
me here after all, I can stand it so much easier than a baby, you
see.

Of course I never mention it to them any more--I am too
wise,--but I keep watch of it all the same.

There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or
ever will.

Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every
day.

It is always the same shape, only very numerous.