16 March 1936 – 22 March 1936

It now seems to me so good—still talking about The Years—that I can’t go on correcting. In fact I do think the scene at Witterings is about the best, in that line, I ever wrote. First proofs just come: so there’s a cold douche waiting me there. And I can’t concentrate this morning—must make up Letter to an Englishman. I think, once more, that is the final form it will take.