It's three o'clock. I've just finished this new story, Bliss, and am sending it to you. But though, my God! I have enjoyed writing it, I am an absolute rag for the rest of the day and you must forgive no letter at all. I will write at length to-morrow. Oh, tell me what you think page 139 of our new story (that's quite sincere). Please try and like it, and I am now free to start another. One extraordinary-thing has happened to me since I came out here! Once I start them they haunt me, pursue me and plague me until they are finished and as good as I can do….

I walked to a little valley yesterday that I longed to show you. I sat on a warm stone there. All the almond flowers are gone, but the trees are in new leaf and they were full of loving, mating birds—quarrelling, you know, about whether to turn the stair-carpet under or to cut it off straight. And the trees were playing ball with a little breeze, tossing it to each other.

I sat a long time on my stone, then scratched your initials with a pin and came away….

You can feel how I'm wheeling this old letter along in a creaking barrow. My head is gone. I'll send a long one (letter, not head) to-morrow.