That's all.

To me there's something more to life than that--something higher, deeper, more worth while.

We haven't a taste in common, a thought in unison, an aspiration in harmony.

I suspect--in fact I _know_--that I get on his nerves just as raspingly as he does on mine.

For that reason I'm sure he'll be glad--when he gets my letter.
But, some way, I dread to tell Mother.
* * * * * Well, it's finished.