… I have escaped. Do you know what that means? There has been a postal strike in Italy. No letters, no wires. Nothing comes through. A strike of the railways, and now from to-day a strike of automobiles. We just got through by taking a roundabout route and escaping the police…

I have got away from that hell of isolation, from the awful singing at night, from the loneliness and fright. To tell you the truth, I think I have been mad, but really, medically mad. A great awful cloud has been on me… It's nearly killed me. Yes. When J. took me in her arms to-day she cried as well as I. I felt as though I'd been through some awful deathly strain, and just survived— been rescued from drowning or something like that. You page 5 can't understand, it's not possible you should, what that isolation was when you left again and I again was ill…

If I don't get well here, I'll never get well. Here— after the journey—was this room waiting for me—exquisite, large, with four windows, overlooking great gardens and mountains, wonderful flowers—tea with toast and honey and butter—a charming maid—and these two dear sweet women to welcome me with papers, books, etc. This is really a superb place in every way. Two doctors live here… The cleanliness is almost supernatural. One feels like a butterfly. One only wants to fan one's wings, on the couch, the chairs. I have a big writing table with a cut-glass inkstand, a waste-paper basket, a freat bowl of violets and your own anemones and wallflowers in it. The directress is a very nice Frenchwoman only too anxious to look after me and see that there is no change in anything… There is also a sort of Swiss nurse in white who has just been in and says she answers the bell at night. She is so good to look at that I shall have to ring.

I've got away from under that ghastly cloud. All is absolutely changed. I'm here with people, with care. I feel a different creature really—different eyes, different hair. The garden is gorgeous. There is a big shelter, chaufféd. What do you think of that?