7 Feb
7 Feb
7 February 1920
Exit A.M. 2.55 laundry. Wrote & sent reviews. House in a perfect uproar. Dreadfully nervous. Dressmaker came & her little apprentice who gave me the flowers. Had a bath - but all was in a tearing hurry & clatter. Had a strange dream. "She is one with the moonlight." Georges Sand - ma soeur. [KM Notebooks]
You say I ought to have guessed you misunderstood. Curse money! Its not really a question of money. It was the question of sympathy, of understanding, of being in the least interested of asking JUST ONCE how I was - what I thought about & felt - what I did - if I was ‘alright'? I cant get over the fact that it never occurred to you and it makes me feel you don't want my Love - not my living love - you only want an ‘idea'. When that strike was on - fool that I was - my first thoughts always were ‘what I feel doesn't matter so much. Jack must be in such agony. When he doesn't hear he'll try & wire and the P.O. will tell him no wires are delivered & he knows Im ill. . .' But your letter came ‘drunk with the magnificence of the downs', a day's ‘sheer joy', the ‘note of hysteria would go out of my work', ‘very fit'. And when you did hear - good - your anxiety was over & you never referred to me again. So I must face the fact that you have put me away for the time. You are withdrawn - self-contained and you don't want in the deepest widest sense of the word to be disturbed. As long as Im on a suitable shelf - and [therefore] YOU'RE not worried - ça va! Of course I still love you. I love you as much as ever. But to know this is torture until I get it in hand.
[. . .] I want to mention something else. Lawrence sent me a letter today: he spat in my face & threw filth at me and said ‘I loathe you. You revolt me stewing in your consumption. The Italians were quite right to have nothing to do with you' and a great deal more. [To J.M. Murry in Collected Letters]