The letter I sent you has been returned to me. There is my handwriting, across the envelope. I wrote it down exactly as you told it to me, so it cannot be wrong. It cannot be. Yet it has come back unopened again. This is the second time that it has come back inside another envelope, a larger one with the note attached that I sent when I returned it – the note, the little letter. Did you see it, darling? I write, I write. Did you not see the little letter, Cora? and I do not recognize the handwriting because it is simply printing in capitals. I have looked and looked at it, wondering if you printed the capitals across the envelope, sealed it over my own letter to you, and returned it. Nothing else in the envelope, no letter, no note. Nothing. Just my own letter and note, opened and resealed. It is two months since you were here, Cora. I wonder if you know what you have done to me with this. Not only with your absence, but with my letter. It is an insult. It is not right for a woman to insult a man.
