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"Kessin, Dec. 31.
"_My dear mama_:
"This will probably be a long letter, as I have not let you
hear from me for a long time. The card doesn't count. The last
time I wrote, I was in the midst of Christmas preparations; now
the Christmas holidays are past and gone. Innstetten and my
good friend Gieshuebler left nothing undone to make Holy Night
as agreeable for me as possible, but I felt a little lonely and
homesick for you. Generally speaking, much as I have cause to
be grateful and happy, I cannot rid myself entirely of a
feeling of loneliness, and if I formerly made more fun than
necessary, perhaps, of Hulda's eternal tears of emotion, I am
now being punished for it and have to fight against such tears
myself, for Innstetten must not see them. However, I am sure
that it will all be better when our household is more
enlivened, which is soon to be the case, my dear mama. What I
recently hinted at is now a certainty and Innstetten gives me
daily proof of his joy on account of it. It is not necessary to
assure you how happy I myself am when I think of it, for the
simple reason that I shall then have life and entertainment at
home, or, as Geert says, 'a dear little plaything.' This word
of his is doubtless proper, but I wish he would not use it,
because it always give me a little shock and reminds me how
young I am and that I still half belong in the nursery. This
notion never leaves me (Geert says it is pathological) and, as
a result, the thing that should be my highest happiness is
almost the contrary, a constant embarrassment for me.
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