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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I

Monday night — February 4, 1918

Monday night
February 4, 1918

I decided, after I posted your letter and MS. to-day and had my walk to try to forget work for an hour or two. So I have re-packed and re-sorted my box, gone through all my possessions, and generally behaved as though this were my last night on earth. Even to the extent of writing my address “c/o you to be communicated with in case of need,” in French and English in my passport case.

And now all is fair…. What a fool I am!

The worst of Real insomnia is one spends a great part of the day wondering if one is going to bring it off the coming night. Can I stand another last night? Of course, I suppose I can. But must I? Not to sleep and to be alone is a very neat example of Hell. But what isn't? Ah, there you have me.

Tuesday.

I never had such a direct answer to prayer. Two letters, real letters, from you about our cottage and all that. This, of course, has given me the salto mortale, and I am a changed child. Also, I did manage by eating myself to death at dinner and only reading early poetry afterwards and taking 10 grains of aspirin to get to sleep.

God! What it is to count on letters so!