My dearest T., sleep has not brought rest. I am outside my body these days. It will pass soon. I am trying to give myself over to the work that needs to be done. Perhaps absences that only shook hands with each other became better acquainted and that has brought on this tiredness.

I was thinking of your speech the other day; how rough and unvarnished it was, full of home questions.

Back to work now.

When some beloved voice, that was to you
Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly,
And silence against which you dare not cry
Aches round you like a strong disease and new—
What hope? what help? what music will undo
That silence to your sense?

From Substitution by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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