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Dated August 27, year not given.
Dear One. Not this September, - nor ever this year! Home is the only place for an afflicted wretch like me, with my sores and my lotions, & my sister & my maid & my miseries. I have been ill but once before in my life, - & instead of being thankful for past immunity am half angry at present infliction. My body? I am never conscious of it except when it troubles me.
When I am well I am all a disembodied spirit, so far as my flesh & bones are concerned, - & I count it a luxury not to know of my body's existence. I suppose I have never truly taken care of the poor thing, - I have given it late hours, close work, little food, worry to the brain, labor to the hand, idleness to the feet, - & it has revolted. However, the Doctor thinks I shall be in my old bodiless condition by winter, - Nat is totally well, - & meantime
I fret, - & not the least of my wickednesses is that I am talking to you about my miseries, & bringing the hateful things in among the company of the Gods -
I thought in all that lovely moonlight of you among your mountains, & felt very angry with myself and fate. Mrs. Hopkins had to go back Monday to her work, which ties her South now till next June, & I was doubly annoyed that I was the means of her losing such a pleasure as being with you & Miss Manning, & the purple hills which fill my thought with thirsting
when I think of them. I hope your beautiful body will never serve you such a trick as mine is serving me. The Chiefs of Samoa keep a talking-man, - I should like to have a patent swearer.
Goodbye dear, loveliest, & best. The thought of you is help & blessing. Love to your moonlight - not the moonlight, but Miss Manning.
Alys your own loving
Spofford, Harriet Prescott and Wellesley College Archives, "Letter from Harriet Prescott Spofford, Newburyport, Massachusetts, to Anne Whitney, between 1891 and 1895" (1890). Papers of Anne Whitney (MSS.4): Correspondence. 1145.