Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Courtlaw might have been able to give me an idea where to stop. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months.
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