17 March 1922

Victoria Palace Hotel, Paris

Dear Richard,
   I must have sounded an unsympathetic and selfish creature in my last letter to you. Forgive me! It was too bad of me to crow so loudly being out of the wood (more or less) myself while my little bruvver is still tangled up in the branches. I wish I could help you a bit. Perhaps you and Jack, above a long glass of something cool under a chestnut tree in the Luxembourg Gardens will find out a way. Yes, old boy, I see your point about Art Schools. I can imagine what I should have felt with Max Pemberton telling me to "cut the cackle and come to the osses." Which is what would have happened. And I understand too why you would rather not pitch your tent in the camp of Brett and Gertler. Its difficult. But I pin my flag on Easter. [...]
   By the way. Look here. I don't agree with you about women knocking off works of art at thirty or round about and men not until fifty. Or rather I don't agree personally. I'm 33; I feel I am only just beginning to see now what it is . . . I want to do. It will take years of work to really bring it off. Ive done one or two things, like the Daughters of the Colonel which were the right kind. But one or two! Oh Richard, to be sincere I could groan at all there is to do and the tiny beginning I have made. Not a groan of misery but of impatience. Why don't I get down to it more. I must this year. But if you are right about most women I don't feel its true about me. Im one of the slow ones. . .
[To Richard Murry, 16 March 1922.]