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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I

Wednesday — November 5, 1919

Wednesday
November 5, 1919

It's warmer to-day, with a huge wind blowing and working up for rain—all deep greys. The wind tugs at the trees, tugs at the waves. It's a vile wind. I wish the sun would shine, I wish it would—hot bright sun day after day.

But even Hampstead rests me to think of. It is my home. I have a home. I have every right to sit on the stairs and look at Wing come lopping up. I love 2 Portland Villas from here. I'd kiss the gate and the door. Often I go in and wander through and look out of the page 276 windows, with love, with love. My room was so beautiful—the long glass reflecting the books—the Black Monk—the exquisite clock, and the brass scuttle. In my memory I caress them—they are beloved darlings. To turn that unwilling key in the Black Monk 1—oh, what joy! To curl up on the Stickleback and to have Wing climb up the outer shell and then walk over unimportant me! And my chest of drawers—the special one! Don't let us ever give up our things—truly I couldn't.

I don't like foreign countries or foreign ways or foreign houses. It's only the sun that tricks them out. When the sun goes it is as though the flesh were gone, and there's nothing to tell over but ugly bones.

This is an ancient wind.

1 A large black cupboard outlined in yellow which stood in K. M.'s room.