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As premature aging and infirmity began overtaking Mary, her life, nevertheless , exemplified the words of Sean O’Casey: “Even the winter has her many beauties, even for the old who shiver.”… One of these came unexpectedly from Jim in early 1960. He had gone to Rome to attend a meeting of the World Peace Council. For some reason he arrived a day early and took advantage of the extra time to write Mary a love letter. The sudden death of their friend and colleague Roscoe Rodd had prompted him to make this deeply felt review of their life together. Mary My Love, I feel a long way from home and somewhat lonely tonight. The affairs of state will have to be considered tomorrow. I seem to have arrived one day too early and so this evening I shall enjoy the pleasure of devoting my thoughts and memories to you. I have just been reading a short American novel, one of those that rather overdoes the description of love-making but at least wants to make me leave it and write a love letter to you. About the most sensible thing in the book is the reflection of one character—“There is nothing in life that is better than this, lying beside the woman you love, in your own bed, in your own house.” I have been feeling very deeply about you, with a certain tender respect which goes from the roots of my hair down to my toes, ever since the sad separation of Roscoe from Nora. I had a lot of time to think about it on the train but I did not have time to talk about it to you. Some of what I thought made me feel rather sad, because I have not given you the companionship of reading and conversation which you would have valued and found satisfying . And at a certain time of real crisis in my life I allowed a separation to take place which every now and then I find devastating to my self-respect. There are many things in my life which I just want to forget, completely and utterly black-out, when I get introspective I feel that I have made you miss a lot which would have made your life more vitally delightful. 26 The Winter Years 227 You are really too good and wonderful a person for me and I feel that I have not measured up to the love and devotion which you so richly deserved and have given to me. It seems as if there has often been an inner core of pride which I never surrendered to you. My first awareness of it was during our engagement when I became angry when you challenged certain theological beliefs which I was determined to defend, for reasons not clear to me, but I suppose because I wanted to go to China and didn’t want to disappoint my father. Looking back on those years in China I can recall many periods of inner gloom, when I left you a stranger to my thoughts, because I was trying to prevent myself from thinking. When it finally cracked up you were not there. But when you came to Shanghai you were really wonderful, a gloriously lovely, tender and shining honest soul and I feel I let you down rather badly. This is not at all the kind of love letter I intended to write when I first got the urge. I just wanted you to know that I love you with the same delight in my soul as it was in the beginning, and how deeply I respect and admire you as well and I hope to be home in 8 days and I wish it were eight minutes because it is time to go to bed. Love to you, Jim (22 January 1960) Two days later Jim wrote again: Mary My Love, We have just been debating a document. Shall we have a long one, or is it more effective as Ehrenburg says, to compel yourself to say the essence of the thing in a few slogans? While the political experts elaborated at length, I diverted myself in some private and enjoyable reflections, namely, how my soul taketh delight in Mary Austin. I love you. You are the real meaning of life, the most enduring delight and the most profound content, in short, the best thing that ever happened to me is you. It also seems to be true...

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