24 December 1920

24 December 1920

Villa Isola Bella, Menton, France

Marie. She is little and grey with periwinkle - I feel inclined to write periwinkle - blue eyes and swift sweeping gestures. Annette said she is "une personne très superieure - la veuve d'un cocher", and "qu'elle a son appartement à Nice . . . Mais que voulez-vous, la vie est si chère, on a forcée." But Marie does not look like any of these imposing, substantial things. She is far too gay, too laughing, too light to have ever been more than a feather in the coachman's hat. As to an appartement I suspect it was a chair at a window which overlooked a market.

Throttling strangling by the throat a helpless exhausted little black silk bag. But one says not a word & to the best of one's belief gives no sign. I went out into the gentle rain & saw the rainbow. It deepens, it shone down into the sea & then it faded: it was gone. The small gentle rain fell on the other side of the world. Frail - Frail - I felt Life was no more than this.
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