Letter from Edward Thomas to his wife, Helen Thomas. Archival reference: 424/1/1/1/1/74
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61 Shelgate Rd
Monday Evening, 12.9.98.
Yes, dear Helen, we are happy people now, and I felt quite dangerously content last night. Still I have the perpetual disatisfaction with my writing as an element of disturbance in my life. This afternoon for instance I was trying to decide if what I had written was worth copying-
about that

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"nice"; but as I said she has something of the milliner in her soul. Poor thing! What a life she must lead, if she finds a glance or two from me so exciting and new: no wonder such people go astray if they suddenly find out the capacity of their nature.
I did kiss her and very lovingly- though I thought of you all the time; in fact it was partly you that I saw when I beheld her. I hope I shall never forget her; when I shall feel that

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country girl, I told you of, who is to be continually (illegible) someone & at last find what she sought in a lines converse with a 'trusting youth'' I wonder if it's interesting.
You need not warn me about Miss Jenkins. I shall go my own way, without any fear. Her letters so far are reasonable enough but I am wondering when she will tire

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of them. There must be something in my library for her; for her sister, yesterday, though an amiable prettyish girl, gave me no satisfaction while with the other I am very content. I daresay she knows about you already, or will know.
By the way there is no need for aversion at her message to you. It was not

it is possible to love another even though I am all ever yours. little one. But I won't reason on it.
I should like to see you two together.
My cough is bad again-stifling sometimes; so I don't know if I will risk a train journey which is always bad, tomorrow. Don't fret if I fail to come.
Good morning now! I hope we will spend a
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happy day. Yes we are happy-let us deserve to be.
Ever your truest fondest friend Edward and your ever very own sweet little one, Helen, anemone maiden.
Helen fach, Goodbye.
(illegible) all have the nuts, pehaps a head of wheat, but not that tied up wheat; for Gwili had it made for me, & I would
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rather burn it than give it away.
You are a little apt to think I give you things- that Keats, for instance, the Odes , I never had the slightest intention of parting with. If I remember rightly, I only lent you those portraits of culture. Still, whether I or you keeps them it doesn't matter. Don't scold.