The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I
Tuesday — July 2, 1918 —
I love to hear of Lytton's success. It seems quite measureless to man. I put my head out of window at night and expect to find his name pricked upon the heavens in real stars. I feel he is become already a sort of myth, a kind of legend. Modern princelings are hushed to sleep with tales of him and grave young duchesses disguise themselves at their Fairs and Pageants with … the delicate beard, the moonlight hat, the shy, reluctant umbrella….
Yes, I am very sorry that we shall not see each other this week. Your Pearl of a Letter made me realise what an infinite deal I want to talk about with you. But it will keep. I have spent the last two days lying on the sommier, with a temperature for doux ami. But writing seems a great labour and every book I want out of reach—the topmost leaf of the tallest tree. But I like to listen to this street. There is a piano in it, a parrot, and a man who cries feather-brooms—all excellent in their way.