15 September

15 September 1920

Travelling to Menton, France

My darling Bogey
Your letter and card this morning were so perfect that (only you will understand this) I felt you'd brought up a little kitten by Wingley and put it on our bed & we were looking at it together. But it was a very kit¬ten of Very Kittens . . . with wings. I must answer it just this once & risk breaking the agreement not to write. But my letter to you was so inferior to yours to me.
Yes, that suddenness of parting - that last moment. But this last time I had a deep, strange confidence - a feeling so different to that other desperate parting when I went to France. We are both so much stronger & we do see our way and we do know what the future is to be. That doesn't make me miss you less, though.
Dont ask my parding humbly. Open any letter you like. You know you can; I only pretend to mind. I like you to open them, for some queer reason. Ill reply to Methuen tomorrow. Ive got the 2 novels for this week, thank you. Ill write to old Sorapure about that vaccine. You were right. It was a case of moral cowardice.
Im in bed - not very O.K. The moustiques have bitten me & Ive had pains & fever & dysentery. Poisoned, I suppose. It was almost bound to happen. But don't worry, my dear love. Annette is in the kitchen & her soups & rice climb up the stairs.
[. . .] Ive begun my journal book. I want to offer it to Methuen - to be ready this Xmas. Do you think thats too long to wait? It ought to be rather special, dead true - and by dead true I mean like one takes a sounding (yet gay withal). Oh, its hard to describe. What do you advise? [Letter to J. M. Murry in Collected Letters]