and more society and stimulus--but John says the very worst thing
I can do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always
makes me feel bad.

So I will let it alone and talk about the house.

The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well
back from the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes
me think of English places that you read about, for there are
hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separate little
houses for the gardeners and people.

There is a DELICIOUS garden! I never saw such a
garden--large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined
with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them.

There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.

There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the
heirs and coheirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.

That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid, but I don't
care--there is something strange about the house--I can feel it.

I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said
what I felt was a DRAUGHT, and shut the window.

I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I'm sure I
never used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous
condition.