I am very thankful you liked the reviews. The B —— book was awful—dead as a tack. These people have no life at all. They never seem to renew themselves or to Grow… The species is now adult and undergoes no other change, until its head-feathers turn white and fall out… Awful!! Even if one does not acquire any “fresh meat”—one's vision of what one possesses is constantly changing into something rich and strange, isn't it? I feel mine is. 47 Fitzherbert Terrace, p.e., is colouring beautifully with the years and I polish it and examine it and only now is it ready to come out of the store room and into the uncommon light of day.

Oh my stars! How I love to think of us as workers, writers—two creatures given over to Art. Not that I place Art higher than Love or Life. I cannot see them as things separate—they minister unto each other. And how I long for us to be established in our home with just a few precious friends with whom we can talk and be gay and rejoice… Ecce quam bonum et quam jucundum babitare fratres in unum! Sicut unguentum in capite, page 27 quod descendit in barbam, barbam Aaron. (Now that surprised you—didn't it?) I'm a cultivated little thing, really.

It's a cold and windy day and makes me cough. I still cough, still walk with a stick, still have to rest nearly all the time. They still talk about me as tho' I were the size of a thimble. So you mustn't expect a very fierce girl and you mustn't be disappointed if I have to go slow.