30 September 1918 – 6 October 1918

I hope this pen works. Yes, it does. The last day in September — immensely cold, a kind of solid cold outside the windows. My lire has played traitor nearly all day and I have been, in the good, old-fashioned way, feeling my skin curl. Don't read this. Do you hear that train whistle and now the leaves — the dry leaves — and now the fire — fluttering and breaking. Why doesn't she bring the lamps ?