8 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #21

Edith to Stuart
08.11.17
My Belovéd,
It is time to write to you once again. The days slip by so quickly, that no sooner is it morning, than the evening comes close upon it, and then it is morning again. This term is simply rushing by. Do you remember that I told you, the day before we started school, when we were on the river, that I was already looking forward to the Christmas holidays? That seemed like looking years ahead, then. But, now, the sixteen weeks are passing like a flash. Why? – You. Before we found each other, the hours in school seemed interminable, and I used to come home, really tired out, to drag through a long evening of preparation for the next day, which I knew would be as big a failure as the last. Then to bed, often to do what you used to do, cry myself to sleep, because I was so sick of it all. Can you imagine me doing that? I know a good many folks who would not believe it. But I have not had a real cry now for months, not since before the summer holidays, on a certain night when ___ no, I shall not tell you when, and you would never guess. Never mind, I think women are the silliest creatures on the earth. Now, instead of looking forward to a time five years distant, when I shall be able to leave school, and look forward, not more than one day, to the time when I’ll be with you next. And I believe that is what makes the days fly past so quickly. Of course, I look forward as well to that other time. I wonder if you have any definite ideas about that time. I used to have, before I heard from you yourself your hopes of being ordained. Then I imagined you still at the Press[1], and living in the same little house. But now, I can’t quite picture what it will be like, but I know it will be --- just right.
Now, I am afraid this is a very selfish note, all about myself. But I must not stop to write more, now. So, Good-night, My Belovéd, and – Good-bye.

[1] The Oxford University Press

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