and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but
temporary nervous depression a slight hysterical tendency what is one
to do?
My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says
the same thing.
So I take phosphates or phosphites whichever it is, and tonics, and
journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to work
until I am well again.
Personally, I disagree with their ideas.
Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change,
would do me good.
But what is one to do?
I did write for a while in spite of them; but it does exhaust me a good
deal having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.
I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and
more society and stimulus but John says the very worst thing I can do
is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel
bad.
So I will let it alone and talk about the house.
The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back from
the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think of
English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and
gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners
and people.
There is a delicious garden! I never saw such a garden large and shady,
full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors
with seats under them.
There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.
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