21 October 1918 – 27 October 1918

L.M. is going to town. I must take some of my dear money out of the Bank and give it her. I am in bed; I feel very sick. Queer altogether — de- composing a bit. It's a pale silent day: I would like to be walking in a wood, far away. Health seems to me now more remote than any- thing— unattainable. Best to stay in bed and be horrid from there. This sky in waves of blue and cream and grey is like the sky overhanging a dead calm sea, when you hear someone rowing, far far away; and then the voices from the boat and the rattle of the chain and the barking of the ship's dog all sound loud. There is as usual a smell of onions and chop bones in the house. What do I want her to buy for me ? When it really becomes an urgent matter — I want nothing — waste of money — I feel like Mile. Seguin, who wouldn't hang the pictures in her new flat becau.se Life is such a breathy little Dolly.

This is simply the most Divine Spot. So remote, so peaceful; full of colour, full of Autumn; the sunset is real and the sound of somebody splitting small wood is real, too. If only one could live up here for really a long time and not have to see anybody. . . . It might very well be France, it's much more like France than it is like England. The place — remote — the dresses and scarves old; The year, — fruitful! their talk and laughter gay.