22 Jan

22 January 1920

L'Hermitage, Menton - France

Saw the doctor - a fool. Thinking of the Casetta left to itself - the little winds blowing, the shutters shut, the cotton plant turning yellow. Heard from J. wire & letter. Spent a day recovering. My heart tires me. The meals downstairs are a fearful strain. But the people newly risen[?]. [KM Notebooks]

My precious own dear,
At the risk of not having a letter from you I shall still write another. For I am not so pressé this morning and I have so much to tell you . . . [. . .]
Oh my precious Bogey do write to me. You do really care about external life to the extent of hearing about it? Oh - you're my all. The trees outside whisper and the sun seems to be flying. I suppose this is nonsense but I breathe quite differently. Once I hear from you - once you take me in your arms - Im not thinking of that queer small unsigned telegram - I cant. [To J.M. Murry in Collected Letters]

My love
I have just received the 2nd wire. No news or reviews. Now you will understand why. This wire sounds even though of course it assures me the worst has happened & nothing has got through it sounds as though you arent angry. Boge. That word is my talisman. Now Ill feed on this telegram burrow like a bee in sweet clover into the word Boge and wait again. [. . .]
Well now thats enough about me. I only tell you because I want you to forget the creature who lived at the Casetta. It was all wrong ­ terribly wickedly wrong to have been there. You'll never know, & I felt your strangeness your refusal to enter into it - that was what overpowered me. That I shall never understand. Even when we sat there at evening & I said can you imagine what this is like when one is alone & ill & L.M. away? Still you would not see. But let us put all that away. Let us forget it. Bury it in cursed Italy. Let us look forward - and build and build.
I love you. You know I love you with my whole being.
[. . .]

Heres your Monday letter come by the 2nd courier the one about Wells. On what a treasure (you not H.G.). Oh Boge my precious own - I don't know what to say to it. Its a wonderful letter. Its the 1st for a fortnight. I dont know what will be safe in Italy as regards cheques or anything. Nothing is delivered. I have left 30 lire with the post for forwarding any parcels. Now I must write old Kay & tell him I mean to overdraw. I see the Wells family very squashy - wait till we have our house and our boys and our ball game.
Heaven bless our loves
Wig.   [To J.M. Murry in Collected Letters]