different from this morning.

"Are you thinking me silly when I write like this, or are you
dreadfully bored with it? I can't help it, Georgie; love means so much
more to us women than to you men. It is essentially different. When a
man in love thinks of the woman he thinks of her as 'mine,' and that
thrills him--possession. But when the woman thinks of him she thinks
of herself as 'his,' and that moves every fibre of her, strikes every
chord--capitulation. The man expresses love by saying 'You are mine';
the woman by 'I am yours.' That is how it is with me. I sing to myself
that I am yours, yours, yours. I want you to have every bit of me. I
want you to know every thought I have. If I had bad thoughts, I would
tell them you. If I had desires, I would make them known and would not
blush. I want you to see right into my very heart. I want to lay
everything before you--to come to you bound and naked. That is what
love is with women, dear. Some of us resist it, school it otherwise--
but I do not think they are happy; not really happy. It is our nature
to be as I have said, and to fight against nature is wearying work,
leaving marks: it is to get tossed aside out of the sun.

"Are you thinking me unutterably tiresome and foolish?--but you will
not think that; because you love me.

"Ah, let me write that again!-because you love me. And let me write
this: I love you.

"My dear, is not that curious?--the precious joy of saying 'I love
you,' and the constant yearning to hear it said. Not lovers alone have
this joy and this desire. Mothers teach their babies to say 'I love
you, mother,' and constantly and constantly they ask, 'Do you love me,