27 June 1922

Hotel d'Angleterre, Montana-sur-Sierre, Switzerland

              In the Forest.
   All the same you will be met by one of us, so be sure to let us know the exact day.
    Im sitting writing to you in a glade under a pine tree. There are quantities of little squat yellow bushes of a kind of broom everywhere that give a sweet scent & are the humming homes of bees. M. & I have been here all day. Now he is climbing up to Montana to buy a large bottle of castor oil! Its sad to feel so completely a creature of air as one does in this forest and yet to find ones insides have ordered a general strike. Such is our awful condition. Its divinely lovely out here, and warm again, with just a light breeze swinging in the trees. A little blue sky with puffs of white cloud over the mountains.
   You know darling I must say I think that ‘set' in London including Mrs D. [Dobree] and Co is simply detestable. They seem to be always on the lookout for unpleasantness. I shouldn't feel savage personally (though I understand it is your nature so to do). I should simply retire with a door between us. They are pleased when you do lash out. They feel they have drawm blood - the horrid creatures. Mrs D. sounds a perfect pig of the largest kind and Carrington ought to have pulled her nose. But its such a waste of time - waste of life - waste of energy. One might as well live in the bosom of a large family as among those people: there's no difference that I can see. [To Dorothy Brett, 22 June 1922.]