30 January 1933 – 5 February 1933

Not that I much want a move in March, with The Pargiters on my hands. I am going however to work largely, spaciously, fruitfully on that book. Today I finished—rather more completely than usual—revising the first chapter. I am leaving out the interchapters—compacting them in the text: and project an appendix of dates. A good idea? And Galsworthy died two days ago, it suddenly struck me, walking just now by the Serpentine after calling on Mrs. W. (who’s been dying—is recovering) with the gulls opening their scimitars—masses of gulls. Galsworthy’s dead: and A. Bennett told me he simply couldn’t stick Galsworthy. Had to praise Jack’s books to Mrs. G. But I could say what I liked against Galsworthy. That stark man lies dead.