14 November 1927 – 20 November 1927

I will now snatch a moment from what Morgan calls “life” to enter a hurried note. My notes have been few; life a cascade, a glissade, a torrent; all together. I think on the whole this is our happiest autumn. So much work; and success now; and life on easy terms; heaven knows what. My morning rushes, pell mell, from 10 to 1. I write so quick I can’t get it typed before lunch. This I suppose is the main backbone of my autumn—Orlando. Never do I feel this, except for a morning or two, writing criticism. Today I began the third chapter. Do I learn anything? Too much of a joke perhaps for that; yet I like these plain sentences; and the externality of it for a change. It is too thin of course; splashed over the canvas; but I shall cover the ground by January 7th (I say) and then re-write.