My darling Anne
After my Plan
For New Year's Day fell through, I gave up hope
Of catching a rope
Which would land me down near you.
Since then I've been
(Pulse one sixteen
Temperature one o three)

page 223

Lying in bed
With a wandering head
And a weak, weak cup of tea.
Injections, chere
In my derrière
Driven into a muscular wad
With a needle thick
As a walking stick—
How can one believe in God!
Plus—pleurisy
And je vous dis
A head that went off on its own
Rode a circular race
That embraced every place
I ever shall know or have known.

I landed in Spain
Went to China by train
And rounded Cape Horn in a gale
Ate an ice in New York
Caught the boat for Majourke
And went up the Nile for a sail….

Light refreshments, bouillon, raw eggs and orange juice were served on the journey. M. came in, fell over the screen, went out again, came back, dropped a candle, groaned, and went again, and the Faithful One changed the hot water bottles so marvellously often that you never had a hot water bottle at all. It was always being taken or brought back.

All this, Anne darling, is a new treatment that my new doctor has started—a treatment by injections. He is a wonderful man. In April he says I ought to go to a place like Corsica. Switzerland is impossible, tank de Lord. So I think I shall…. Well, Anne dearest, I'll keep on thinking and thinking about you, and wishing you all the luck there is. I shall be no good after to-day till the end of this week for I have another consignment shipped into me to-morrow. But I'll write again then. Quelle vie!