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Table of Contents

Summer 1913

THANK you for the money: I'm going to start again keeping a strict account of every penny I spend and then we can see where the screw is loose or the shoe pinches—or whatever it is.

Last night as I got into bed the bed refused to have me and down I flew with my feet up in the air. I was terrified but I couldn't help laughing—and once started I kept on. It seemed no end of a joke to be all alone in what R. C. would call the “profound stillness of the June night” and to be served that age-old trick!

“Mrs. Walter” is here to-day and we're having clean pinnies from head to foot. Such relief that I've written my reviews again and started my Epilogue. I went in to see Baby G. this morning. He was sucking. Such a pretty sight as a rule. But Mrs. G.'s sharp wan face above him somehow filled me with horror.

Things have straightened out in my mind and I'm rather ashamed that I told you—what I did yesterday. It sings in my ears rather like the wail of the little girl left behind on the fence—more anger than anything else.

In November 1913, we went to live in Paris, in a flat at 31 rue de Tournon, not 32, as printed by mistake in the Journal.