I haven't a puff in my sails to-day. You never saw such a head as mine must be within. Nothing less than a letter from you will do…. It's also because I didn't sleep, see? and couldn't find my place in the bed and looked for it all night—lashed about in a hundred beds, I should think, but no, didn't find my place to curl in.

Yesterday behind the hills at the back, I struck 3 divine empty houses. They have been empty for a long time, and will be (till we take one). I cannot tell you how lovely they all are, or how exquisitely placed, with gardens, terraces. Ours had also a stone verandah and two particularly heavenly trees embracing in front of it. In the cracks of the stone verandah little white hyacinths were all in flower. A sunny bank at the side was blue with violets. There was a baby tree that waited to be hung with a poem. And the approach! The approach! The colour of the house was a warm pink-yellow with a red roof, the shape [here a drawing of the house]. Oh, I can't make it, but it was, I think, flying with little loves. It faces the city beyond the hills, which yesterday was page 129 bathed in light. But—I look, I see, I feel, and then I say The War, and it seems to disappear—to be taken off like a film, and I am sitting in the dark….