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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume II

— Monday — August 1922

To Lady Ottoline Morrell


I would simply love to meet you at Taylor's whenever you ask me to come. Or if you would rather I met you anywhere else—I shall be there. I can't walk yet—absurd as it sounds—only a few puffing paces, a most humiliating and pug-like performance. But once I get my legs back or rather once my heart is stronger I shall not be dependent on taxis. I live in them since I have come to London. I have got Fat—Wyndham Lewis I hear is also fat, May Sinclair has waxed enormous, Anne Rice can't be supported by her ankles alone—I try to comfort myself with many examples. But I don't really care—it is awful how little one cares. Anything—rather than illness—rather than the sofa, and that awful dependence on others!

I rather look forward to these three months in London, once I have got out of my boxes and into a real corner of my own. I dream of brand new friends—not the dreadfully solemn ‘intensive’ ones—not the mind-probers. But young ones who aren't ashamed to be interested. Dear little Gerhardi who wrote Futility is one—he sounds awfully nice. And there's another I met in Switzerland— so attractive! I don't think I care very much for the real intelligentsia, Ottoline, dearest. Aad they seem to be so uneasy, so determined not to be caught out! Who wants to catch them?

I wish you would come to Italy for part of next winter. Do you know the Lago di Garda? They say it is so lovely. And the journey is nothing.

It will be such a real joy to see you again.