I yearn unutterably to get on far enough to begin to plan to come up to town for a while. I have of late reacted intensely against this exile from some of the resources of civilization in winter--and deliriously dream of some future footing in London again (other than my club) for the space of time between Xmas or so and June. What is the rent of a house--unfurnished of course (a little good _inside_ one)--in your Terrace?--and are there any with 2 or 3 servants' bedrooms?
Don't answer this absurdity now--but wait till we go and look at 2 or 3 together! Such is the recuperative yearning of your enfeebled but not beaten--you can see by this scrawl--old
I have been much touched by your solicitude, but till now absolutely too "bad" to write--to do anything but helplessly, yearningly languish and suffer and surrender. I have had a perfect Hell of a Time--since just after Xmas--nearly 15 long weeks of dismal, dreary, interminable illness (with occasional slight pickings-up followed by black relapses.) But the tide, thank the Powers, has at last definitely turned and I am on the way to getting not only better, but, as I believe, creepily and abjectly well. I sent my Nurse (my second) flying the other day, after ten deadly weeks of her, and her predecessor's, aggressive presence and policy, and the mere relief from that overdone discipline has done wonders for me. I must have patience, much, yet--but my face is toward the light, which shows, beautifully, that I look ten years older, with my bonny tresses ten degrees whiter (like Marie Antoinette's in the Conciergerie.) However if I've lost all my beauty and (by my expenses) most of my money, I rejoice I've kept my friends, and I shall come and show you _that_ appreciation yet. I am so delighted that you and the Daughterling had your go at Italy--even though I was feeling so pre-eminently un-Italian. The worst of that Paradise is indeed that one returns but to Purgatories at the best. Have a little patience yet with your still struggling but all clinging
Forgive a very brief letter and a very sad one, in which I must explain long and complicated things in a very few words. I have had a dismal--the most dismal and interminable illness; going on these five months nearly, since Christmas--and of which the end is not yet; and of which all this later stage has been (these ten or twelve weeks) a development of nervous conditions (agitation, trepidation, black melancholia and weakness) of a--the most--formidable and distressing kind. My brother and sister-in-law most blessedly came on to me from America several weeks ago; without them I had--should have--quite gone under; and a week ago, under extreme medical urgency as to change of air, scene, food, everything, I came here with my sister-in-law--to some most kind friends and a beautiful place--as a very arduous experiment. But I'm too ill to be here really, and shall crawl home as soon as possible. I'm afraid I can't see you in London--I can plan nor do nothing; and can only ask you, in my weakness, depression and helplessness, to pardon this doleful story from your affectionate and afflicted old