The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I
Wednesday — October 29, 1919
October 29, 1919
I have heard from F. at Mentone. Poor darling! he was robbed at Boulogne of his wallet—all his money, addresses, papers, £50 in banknotes, a letter of credit for £500. This really wrings my heart. I can't help it. If he does mind so terribly about money, it must have been so ghastly to be alone among foreigners, having to keep up and be a man of the world and look out of the railway windows as though it hadn't happened. I really literally nearly fainted when this swept over me and I ‘saw’ him with a very high colour putting on a smile. I do hope to God people don't suffer quite as I think they do: it's not to be borne if they do.
I am writing this in a hurry. I seem to have such acres to plough and the horse is going so slow. I wish I could change the horse. He just sits on his hind legs and scratches his ear and looks round at me when we're half way through a furrow.
It's icy cold, thundering, blue-grey with a flash of steel. I should think it was going to snow.