5 Jan

5 January 1920

Casetta Deerholm, Ospedaletti - Italy

Henry IV. Nuit blanche. Decided at 3 a.m. that Dickin was a homicidal maniac. Certain of this. Started my story 'Late Spring.' A cold bitter day. Worked at Tchekhov all day and then at my story until 11 p.m. Anna came. We talked about her to her face in English. No letters. Post Office strike. Anna's bow & velvet blouse. [KM Notebooks]


My own darling Bogey,
   Since I have put such a stopper upon my pen I feel as though dear knows when I shall write - if to write is to be merry. Yesterday I realised to the full the strangeness of a day when I didn't write to you. You know its for years that we have written to each other every day & I thought we always would - for toujours. But I see & still hold to the foolishness of it for people like us - I who can't hold back and you who can't bear . . . But should (God forbid) the situation be reversed & you away from me & unhappy you will write to me? I am of that nature that I can bear anything better than silence.
Ever since you left you have carried the sun in your pocket. Its bitter cold, raining fast - sleeting and an east wind. Dickinson says he has never known the glass so low. The cold is intense - one's fingers ache. You could not believe this was the same place - and the sky seems to have great ink stains upon it. I am working - all day - all the evening - too. Your telegrams my thoughtful love were a great pleasure. But you were a day late weren't you? In arriving? I hope you are well at home now & with your Wing & your friends.
[To J.M. Murry in Collected Letters]