Oh, by the way, I had my photo taken yesterday—for a surprise for you. I'll only get des épreuves on Monday tho'. I should think it ought to be extraordinary. The photographer took off my head and then balanced it on my shoulders again at all kinds of angles as tho' it were what Violet calls an “art pot.” “Ne bougez pas en souriant leggerreMENT—Bouche close.” A kind of drill. Those penny studios fascinate me. I must put a story in one one day. They are the most temporary shelters on earth. Why is there always a dead bicycle behind a velvet curtain? Why does one always sit on a faded piano stool? And then, the plaster pillar, the basket of paper flowers, the storm background—and the smell. I love such endroits.