C.J. Hogarth

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