14 Dec 1921

14 December 1921

Chalet des Sapins, Montana-sur-Sierre, Switzerland

    I must end this letter. Its so dull. Forgive it. Now a pale sun like a half sucked peppermint is melting in the sky. The cat has come in. Even his poor little paws are cold - they feel like rubber. He is sitting on my feet singing his song. Wingley does not only purr; there is a light soprano note in his voice as well. He is very nearly human because of the love that is lavished on him. And now that his new coat is grown he is like a cat in a bastick tied with ribbons. He has an immense ruff and long curly new fur. Cats are far nicer than dogs. I shall write a cat story one day. But I shall give the cat to Carrington's dressmakers the Misses Read. What appaling dressmakers they were. They seemed to fit all their patterns on to cottage loaves - life size ones - or on to ham sandwiches with heads and feet. But it was worth it - to have got into their house and heard them as one did.
   Goodbye for now. Please keep a small warm place for me beside you ‘ever radiant' -. But not next to Peter . . . And give my love to Gertler - will you?
   Ever yours
                           Tig.
P.S. DEAREST Brett
   Your letter has just come.
   Stop!
   You are not to send a gramophone.
   Please stop at once.
   None of us can possibly afford such a thing. You will be bankrup after it. My dear generous Brettushka - don't do anything of the kind! Only millionaires can buy them. I know. I scan the papers! But for the really frightfully dear thought - a thousand thanks.  [To Dorothy Brett, 13 December 1921.]