1 February 1915 – 7 February 1915

A slight attack of 'flu' is bowling me over. There is a glimpse of sun. The trees look as though they were hanging out to dry. My cold gained on me all day. I read the lonely Nietzsche ; but I felt a bit ashamed of my feelings for this man in the past. He is, if you like, " human, all too human." Read until late. I felt wretched simply beyond words. Life was like sawdust and sand. Talked short stories to J.

I feel a bit more cheerful to-day because I don't look quite so revolting as I have done. No, the day ended in being as bad as ever. For one thing my illness is really severe. I have been em- broidering my kimono with black wool. Bah! What rot! What do I care for such rubbish!

I can do nothing. Have tidied my desk and taken some quinine and that's all. But I know I shall go, because otherwise I'll die of despair. My head is so hot, but my hands are cold. Perhaps I am dead and just pretending to live here. There is, at any rate, no sign of life in me.