…Here is the certificate which the doctor has just given me. Is it all right? He says that left lung of mine that had the loud deafening creak in it is “no end better,” but there is a Spot in my right lung which “confirms him in his opinion that it is absolutely imperative that I go out of this country and keep out of it all through the page 89 future winters.” It is evidemment rather a bad' un of its kind. At any rate it would become so if I did not fly…. The programme seems to be (if I don't want to do this mysterious crocking up) to sit tight, pack and make for the sun. See? What do you think?

Although I am still snapping up fishes like a sea-lion, steaks like a land -lion, milk like a snake (or is that only ‘tale’?) and eggs, honey, creamb, butter and nourishing trimmings galore, they seem to go to a sort of Dead Letter Office. However, he has given me a tonic to-day which will put that right. Of course, I feel now that I've only to get into the sun and I'll simply burst into leaf and flower again. It is this old place that does it to me.

I know quite well, I appreciate absolutely that you must be faithful to England. Hell it would be to know you were away and felt its call, but all the same you will have to have two houses and we shall have to have all our babies in pairs so that we possess a complete set in either place.