James Joyce | Ulysses | 1922

Dear Molly,

Sometimes when I am hearing you think, I am sure that you are in bed and, even though you say you are in night clothes, I think you are in no clothes. I can sense it, like a dog before an earthquake. Or is that a bird? I think that Poldy doesn't exactly understand what you mean when you talk about your body. He wants to. He understands some bodies, for sure. I love when he goes out to the jakes to drop some kids off at the pool. That is a more modern expression. But I don't know if he really knows what a woman's body is like. I had a husband like that. He was a specimen but he didn't understand the first thing about touch. When we sat together at night he massaged bone. Bone! Who touches a bone over and over again and thinks that feels good? It's like they are hammering away at your kneecap waiting for something to jump. Do you think doctors do better? I cured myself by getting rid of him. He thought he was getting rid of me, but I got rid of him. Then later that winter I was out on the beach and saw a man who looked like him. It wasn't him for sure, which put me at ease. This man was a specimen too. I walked back along the beach with him and went up a path to his house.

Yours,
A.R. Chase