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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I

Friday — February 22, 1918

Friday
February 22, 1918

A Horn of Plenty! Your Sunday letter and postcard and your Monday letter. Oh, how I have devoured them. The Monday one which was written with swirling twirley letters, made me a bit sad; it was in answer to mine saying March was definite, and now, alas! our plans are altered and I can't come before the swallow dares….

I feel marvellously better to-day. No temperature—vegetarian 1—and on the mend again. But I have had more than my share of alarums and tuckets, don't you think? Great big black things lie in wait for me under the trees and stretch their shadows across the road to trip me. You'll have to keep shouting, “Look out, page 133 Wig!” when we walk together again. The doctor has been and says: If I use all his remedies, I'll be a well girl. (I think he is such a fool. Oh, I could write you reams about him, but I'll tell you). However, his remedies are sound, I think—injections of some stuff called Goneol and another called Kaikakilokicaiettus as far as I can make out—and a tonic and fish to eat—whole fishes—fish ad lib. If I am torpedoed on the way home I expect I shall burst into fins and a mermaid tail as I enter the water and swim to shore….

There's a bit of wind to-day: it's a ¼ to 12. I'm just up. L. M., I believe, ranges the mountains all the mornings. She comes back and I meet her at lunch, with bright eyes and an Appetite which makes the hotel tremble, and after having devoured the table-cloth, glasses and spoons, she says, “What I miss is the puddings. Don't you ever care for currant duff, my dearie, or—?” and then follows about 100 puddings as fast as they can tear. She keeps them all flying in the air like a conjuror, and still like a conjurer, eats 'em. What a strange type she is! But good to travel back with—

1 i.e. no longer “in the pork-butcher trade,” see p. 131.