XXXIVJim Fancourt came down to breakfast after a night of tumultuous dreams. There was a little pile of letters, and he was sorting them through when he came on Anne’s and dropped the others. She wrote as he had done, without a formal beginning and without a formal address. He read:
“I don’t know what to say. You don’t know anything about me. I don’t know anything about myself. You have sent me some money. I don’t know whether I ought to take it, but I am going to just for now, on the condition that you let me pay it back when I have got a job. You needn’t worry about me at all. Miss Silver knows the girl I’m with, and nobody could be kinder. Please wait a little before you try to see me. I want to think things out. If I could only remember—but it’s no use trying, it only makes everything
