7 February 1922

Victoria Palace Hotel, Paris

Darling Bogey,
   I have just received your Friday-Saturday letter - full of snow. The whole of Switzerland according to the papers is snowing. It must be horrid! I hope it is over. No, its not been really bad weather here and April-mild until yesterday when it froze. But today the sun is in-and-out again.
   Will you send me the Lit. Sup? And the Dial? Id be very glad of both if its not too much bother.
   Ida is arranging to return on Friday, leaves here Friday night, that is. Don't feel any doubt about not coming here. Id far rather you didn't come. Theres no point in it and it would unsettle us both. Hotels are odious places for two. If one is alone one can work and forget but thats not so easy á deux. No, let the red peg and the white peg meet in May - not before. . .
Have you read that Goethe - Eckermann? I shall give it to Ida to return to you. But I mean to order a whole one for myself. That taste has given me such an appetite. Its a mystery to me that so fascinating a book should be so little talked of In fact its one of those books that once discovered abides for ever. Its such a whole (even in part as I have it). These two men live, and one is carried with them. The slight absurdity and the sentimental bias of Eckermann I wouldn't have not there! Delightfully human - one smiles but one cant help smiling always tenderly. And then outside sounds come in - the bells of Weimar ringing in the evening, the whisper of the wheat as the friends walk together, the neighbours little children calling like birds.  [To John Middleton Murry, 6 February 1922.]

You know darling I really do expect you in the SPRING. I feel the winter is over already and I read in the Daily Mail yesterday that the Dog's Mercury is out. But what is the Dogs Mercury? And does the Dog know? I hope hes very pleased but I expect he just looks at it and bolts it and goes on with a kind of "so that's that" air. Sad for the Dog's Mercury - don't you think?
   Well dearest, I feel a bit weak in the pen this morning & inclined to laugh at rien - you know the feeling? Do send me a little note here when you are not too busy. Its a fool of a day here - sunny & windy. Fat old men lose their hats & cry houp-la as they stagger after them.
   Heaven bless you.
         Your devoted
[PS.] A kiss for David on the pussy's little derriere. [To Anne Drey, 4 February 1922.]