Notwithstanding my last letter to you, remains unanswered I will not let pass an opportunity of writing to you--I am alone in the house and oh how I wish my own precious Muddie could sit down beside me, if only for one hour, this night--Do you think we shall ever meet again on earth? Sometimes I think it is improbable, then I feel that I must see you and that some good angel will bring about a meeting for us--I do long to hear your voice calling me again, "Annie" "dear Annie," as you have so often called me, and as he [Edgar Allan Poe] used to call me oh so tenderly--Muddie, was there ever a voice so sweet? As the years go by, and I see others, who are called refined & elegant among men, I realize more fully, his
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