| Savoy Hotel, London
Dearest of all Boys,
Your letter was delightful, red and yellow wine to me; but I am sad and out of sorts.
Bosie, you must not make scenes with me. They kill me, they wreck the loveliness of life.
I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious, distorted with passion. I cannot listen to your
curved lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner be blackmailed by every rent-boy
in London than to have you bitter, unjust, hating.
You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and beauty; but I don't know how
to do it.
Shall I come to Salisbury? My bill here is 49 pounds for a week. I have also got a new
sitting-room over the Thames. Why are you not here, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear I
must leave; no money, no credit, and a heart of lead.
Your own,
OSCAR |
