22 July

22 July 1920

2 Portland Villas, Hampstead - London

Woman & woman. What I feel is she is never for one fraction of a second unconscious. If I sigh I know that her head lifts - I know that those grave large eyes fix on me. Why did she sigh. If I turn she suggests a cushion or another rug. If I turn again then it is my back. Might she try to rub it for me? There is no escape. All night a faint rustle, the smallest cough and her soft voice asks did you speak. Can I do anything. If I do absolutely nothing then she discovers my fatigue under my eyes. There is something profound & terrible in this eternal desire to establish contact.

Stove brushes.

Mysterious is man and woman. She sat on the flat seat in the corridor & he stood above her while the dark fat man beat them up a couple of beds. She looked sulky, stubborn and bored. But it was plain to see she suited him. Bang on the door when you're ready old girl, and the door slammed. He sat on the flap seat, smoothed his thin smooth hair, folded his bony hands, a neat foot dangled from a thin ankle. The light shone on his glasses. Seeing him thus one could not imagine a man who looked less like a woman's man. But I admired him immensely. I was proud of them as "made in England." [KM Notebooks, undated]