28 March 1922

Victoria Palace Hotel, Paris

My Darling Marie
   One blessed thing about Paris is there is a Sunday post. It brought me your most welcome letter today, and I am answering bang off because I particularly enjoy a chat with you on Sundays. I don't know why, exactly. It seems the day for it. Perhaps its a reminiscence of the old ‘47' days. We have been having just the same due East weather - too fierce for words. Snow, hail, a bitter wind and that quite peculiar wet slate pencil coldness which I hate above all other varieties. I am waiting until the weather changes before I show any new leaves. As soon as I do I'll let you know, dear. But this temperature keeps me very tied up. A great bore. Marie I love domestic details in a letter. After all one tells the other items of news to the outside world. But when you say you've just made your second batch of marmalade I feel as though I had run in & were watching you hold the bottle up to the light, or waiting to see the result of a fresh cooking experiment! Its as though we still shared part of our lives and that is a precious feeling to me.
   Rosie's letter was a gem of the first water, my dear! When I came to the bee stinging her leg I jumped up and down in bed like a baby in its pram. It was too pa for words. And the bit about all the washing put away except the starched things. I read it aloud to Jack who thoroughly appreciated it too. He has adopted all my memories of people to such an extent that its quite hard to believe he does not really know the people.
 [To Charlotte Beauchamp Perkins, 26 March 1922.]