I felt so wretchedly this morning when I awoke and I had so dreadful and overwhelming a longing for dear Gertrude that as soon as I had eaten my breakfast I walked over alone to the cemetery feeling that it would be a comfort to me to see the spot where she sleeps. There was nothing to see but a mound of snow above that dear, warm heart that once loved me so tenderly. O what a desolating wave of sorrow swept over me when I thought what that hid from me, and I came back through the snow feeling that all joy had indeed gone out of my life. I wrote very sad letters I fear to Lucy, to Alice, to Booth and to Oscar. I ought not to write when I am so depressed but it is a relief to me which I cannot help indulging in.
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