Explore "The Cords of Vanity" by James Branch Cabell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
One woman at least I was beginning to "let alone," in that I was writing Bettie Hamlyn letters which grew shorter and shorter. Her mother had fallen ill, not long after I left college; and she and Bettie were now a great way off, in Colorado, where the old lady was dying, with the most selfish sort of laziness about it, and so was involving me in endless correspondence. At least, I wrote to Bettie punctually, if briefly, though I had not seen her since that night when the moon was red, and big, and very evil. I had to do it, because she had insisted that I write.
"But letters don't mean anything, Bettie. And besides, I hate writing letters."