13 October

13 October 1920

Villa Isola Bella Menton, France

Last day of my old year.
Dearest love,
I want to make something clear. When I say and have said in my let¬ters I shall not say ‘come' you must understand very very deeply that I only mean - not on my account - not because of my illness. What I mean is: I would give up the world, the sea and all the tiddimies in a blink of the eye if you felt it was the thing to do. Im not in the very slightest frightened of being poor. I am sure we shall sell our real work. Im con¬fident of that, tho' it may take time. So if you arrange it to be for next Easter my darling - 0 BLISS - is my signature to the agreement. We'll talk it out at Christmas shall we? As a matter of fact now speaking dead true I think its a waste of time for me to do journalism. I think Id make more with stories only. Truth is I detest novels and think theyre simply rubbish - on the whole. But in saying that I dont mean I couldn't mean that I want to give up my work for the A. I could not live here without it. But I just tell you that - see? darling? Because it is la vraie verité.
I think at Easter L.M. had better go off to London, meet you there, & take over the affair of settling up. Then you'll come here or hereabouts & well live on - love and work.
Youre not to speak about yourself as a silent Boge, an irritating Boge. It makes me hang my head.
This is the last letter I shall ever write to you at 31, the very last. An end and a Beginning. Oh God, how deeply and truly I love you. I am so divinely happy - somewhere - in some still place. [Letter to J. M. Murry in Collected Letters 10 October 1920]