Tirsdag 17 Marts 1874 ? [tilføjet med blyant af Carl Jacobsen]
Dear Mr Jacobsen
If you knew how much pain your letter has given me. I dont think you would have written such an angry one. I never doubted your honor but you know me so very little and if you found out afterwards that you were mistaken in me, had thought me a nice girl and found out how many faults or bad sides I have afterwards it would be dreadful. I am sure nobody will ever be happy with me, I am good enough for anybody. You dont know how horrible I am. I wish you were not angry with me, it makes me so miserable I dare say you will hate me now. I must tell you one thing that always makes me afraid og myself. (I do not mean to hurt you so please forgive me if I do). You are rich and that is what often terrifies me and makes me think what people would say "She took him for money". Do forgive me. I am miserable my self. I do not care for any one so do not think me so bad
but I do not think care ... enough for you and therefore I could not act a living lie and say that I do.
I wish I could die and then I would sit be only a grievance to other people and myself.