January 3.
Dear Gordon:

You are right to be annoyed. I know I'm not a satisfactory love
letter writer. I have only to glance at the published
correspondence of Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning to
realize that the warmth of my style is not up to standard. But
you know already--you have known a long time--that I am not a
very emotional person. I suppose I might write a lot of such
things as: "Every waking moment you are in my thoughts."
"My dear boy, I only live when you are near." But it wouldn't be
absolutely true. You don't fill all my thoughts; 107 orphans do
that. And I really am quite comfortably alive whether you are
here or not. I have to be natural. You surely don't want me to
pretend more desolation than I feel. But I do love to see you,--
you know that perfectly,--and I am disappointed when you can't
come. I fully appreciate all your charming qualities, but, my
dear boy, I CAN'T be sentimental on paper. I am always thinking
about the hotel chambermaid who reads the letters you casually
leave on your bureau. You needn't expostulate that you carry
them next your heart, for I know perfectly well that you don't.

Forgive me for that last letter if it hurt your feelings.
Since I came to this asylum I am extremely touchy on the subject
of drink. You would be, too, if you had seen what I have seen.
Several of my chicks are the sad result of alcoholic parents, and
they are never going to have a fair chance all their lives. You
can't look about a place like this without "aye keeping up a
terrible thinking."