Читать книгу "Not I, but the Wind..." - Frieda von Richthofen Lawrence - Страница 11

Metz

Damn the rain! I suppose you won’t go out while it continues heavily. I’ll venture forth in a minute—9:15 already. I don’t know where you live exactly—so if I can’t find you I shall put this in number 4. That’s the nearest I can get; is it right?

If I don’t meet you, I suppose I shan’t see you today, since this is the festive day. I don’t mind. At least, I do, but I understand it can’t be helped.

I shall go into the country if it’ll keep a bit fine—shall be home here about 2:30, I suppose. I can work as soon as I like.

Let us go away from Metz. Tell Else I’m not cross. How should I be? You are the soul of good intention—how can one be cross with you? But I wish I had the management of our affairs.

Don’t love me for things I’m not—but also don’t tell me I’m mean. I wondered what had become of you this morning. Were you being wise and good and saving my health? You needn’t. I’m not keen on coming to your place to lunch tomorrow—but I am in your hands—“into thine hand, O Lord, I commend,” etc. I want you to do as you like, over little things such as my coming to your father’s house. In oddments, your will is my will.

I love you—but I always have to bite my tongue before I can say it. It’s only my Englishness.

Commend me to your sister. I lodge an appeal with her. I shall say to her—it’s no good saying it to you—“Ayez pitié de moi.”

No, I’m only teasing. It doesn’t matter at all what happens—or what doesn’t happen, that’s more to the point—these few days. But if you put up your fingers, and count your days in Germany, and compare them with the days to follow in Nottingham, then you will see, you—(I don’t mean it)—are selling sovereigns at a penny each. No, you are not doing it—but it’s being done.

Don’t be hurt, or I shall—let me see—go into a monastery—this hotel is precious much like one already.

This is the last day I let you off—so make the most of it and be jolly.