You write of many things, but not at all concerning that of which I wanted you to write.

Nor do I dare write anything definite before I know how you are in _every respect_.

The school-master's letter says nothing that one can depend on, but he praises you and he says you are fickle.

That, indeed, you were before.
Now I do not know what to think, and so you must write, for it will not be well with me until you do.

Just now I remember best about your coming to the cliff that last evening and what you said then.