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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I

Monday — March 4, 1918

Monday
March 4, 1918

I am writing to you, as yesterday, after my early breakfast, and still tucked up. Immensely tucked to-day, just a fringe and two fingers showing because outside it is all white with Snow. And icy cold within. These houses are not made for such rude times. There seem to be a thousand knife-like airs that draw upon each other and do battle even unto th' extremities o' the floor.

J.: You are very silly.

W.: My breakfast crumbs have gone to my brain.

But it is very silly of the Lion to come in like this. I expected him to be a rough rude tumbling monster, but not with a mane of icicles!

Bang at the door. “Une dépêche, Madame.” Cinq sous for the Aged. I open it….

Good God! How I love telegrams!

And now I see you handing it across the counter and counting out the pennies. But the telegraph form, feeling awfully gay, flies off while the girl hands you the change, and begins to buzz and flap round the gas-jet and against the window-pane—Until, finally, you have to make a butterfly net out of a postman's bag and climb on to the counter and on to that iron rail (a Lovely Fair holding your grey ankles the while) and do the most awful terrifying balancing feats before you snare it. Then you go out, quite exhausted, saying, ‘I shan't have time for any lunch now!’ But at that moment Wig appears riding on a cloud with a little heavenly hot-pot tied up in a celestial handkerchief. No, I must put this letter away to cool until the postman has been….

page 142

Later, but no calmer. A Wednesday and a Thursday letter came. Quick March is the best joke of the year, I think.