C.J. Hogarth

All the world is built upon the system that each one of us shall have to yield precedence to some other one, as well as to enjoy a certain power of abusing his fellows. Without such a provision the world
could not get on at all, and simple chaos would ensue

Novels are rubbish, and written for fools and for the idle.

Can it be
that the letters are the outcome of a mental disorder?

P.S. — My heart is full! It is full to bursting of tears! Sorrow has me in its grip, and is tearing me to pieces. Goodbye. My God, what grief! Do not, do not forget
your poor Barbara

BELOVED BARBARA— MY JEWEL, MY PRICELESS ONE