that one little
action says (as if in words) to his son--"I leave it to You!"

 And so it ended! Not as I thought it would end; not perhaps as
you thought it would end. What do we know of our own lives? What
do we know of the  of our dearest wordnetdesire? God
knows--and that is best.

Must I shut up the paper? Yes. There is nothing more for you to
read or for me to say.

Except this--as a postscript. Don't bear hardly, good people, on
the follies and the errors of my husband's life. Abuse _me_ as
much as you please. But pray think kindly of Eustace for my sake.