LXXIV
Rembang, July 17, 1904.
MY Own Dearest Moedertje:
My love for you and my interest in everything that concerns you must not be measured according to the number of my letters to you.
With the best will in the world, it is almost impossible for me to write to any one at all, now especially, when I am struggling against bad health. I have been quite sick: I caught a cold and suffered severely. That is now past, thank God! but I still have to take care of myself. And I must — I will be well, for our child's sake.
How much a child costs its mother! All the tedious suffering is still to come. Oh Moeska, I must take care of myself, and be prudent in everything. For a month past, I have only received members of the family, who can come into my room. I write this in a long chair. I cannot sit up straight comfortably.
Mamma was with me last week; the dear one, nothing is too much for her, where the welfare of her children is at stake. Just so she went to Pamalang when Kardinah was sick, and just so she came all the way here, when my husband in his distress telegraphed for her. My husband is looking forward to the approaching time with great apprehension. He cannot bear to see me suffer, poor dear one; he really suffered more than I when I was so sick. He would turn the whole world upside down to spare me suffering and pain.
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