. . . This morning I too rose in good spirits. Thedora had long
been at work; and it was time that I too should bestir myself.
Indeed I was yearning to do so, so I went out for some silk, and
then sat down to my labours. All the morning I felt light-hearted
and cheerful. Yet now my thoughts are once more dark and sad--
once more my heart is ready to sink.

Ah, what is going to become of me? What will be my fate? To have
to be so uncertain as to the future, to have to be unable to
foretell what is going to happen, distresses me deeply. Even to
look back at the past is horrible, for it contains sorrow that
breaks my very heart at the thought of it. Yes, a whole century
in tears could I spend because of the wicked people who have
wrecked my life!

But dusk is coming on, and I must set to work again. Much else
should I have liked to write to you, but time is lacking, and I
must hasten. Of course, to write this letter is a pleasure
enough, and could never be wearisome; but why do you not come to
see me in person? Why do you not, Makar Alexievitch? You live so
close to me, and at least SOME of your time is your own. I pray
you, come. I have just seen Theresa. She was looking so ill, and
I felt so sorry for her, that I gave her twenty kopecks. I am
almost falling asleep. Write to me in fullest detail, both
concerning your mode of life, and concerning the people who live
with you, and concerning how you fare with them. I should so like
to know! Yes, you must write again. Tonight I have purposely
looped the curtain up. Go to bed early, for, last night, I saw
your candle burning until nearly midnight. Goodbye! I am now
feeling sad and weary. Ah that I should have to spend such days