April 11.
I WRITE a great many letters to the dear anemone lady. I send some of them to her and others I keep to read myself. I like to read letters that I have written—particularly that I have written to her.
This is a letter that I wrote two days ago to my one friend:
"To you:—
"And don't you know, my dearest, my friendship with you contains other things? It contains infatuation, and worship, and bewitchment, and idolatry, and a tiny altar in my soul-chamber whereon is burning sweet incense in a little dish of blue and gold.
"Yes, all of these.
"My life is made up of many outpourings. All the outpourings have one point of coming-together. You are
