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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I

Wednesday — December 3, 1919

Wednesday
December 3, 1919

Last night under the inspiration of a fever attack I wrote these verses. Keep them for me, will you? I feel a longing to write poetry. Don't forget you were going to send me Hardy: I feel passionately eager to read his poems. Did we mention the review in The Times? It was superficial,” silly,” and the snail under the nasturtium leaf again. That don't fit Hardy. Talking of snails, the Nation and the Guardian came to-day. Did you see the one in the eye Wayfarer gave me? He had his quarrel I own, but he was unfair all the same

R.'s old gardener is outside—bless him!—sowing sweet peas. He's a dear old root of a man. He peers at me through the window and when I open it to speak makes the gesture of pulling his coat round him so that I'll keep covered up and mutters “d'vent, d'vent” as though it page 310 were spelled devant. It's all right. I shall be better still to-morrow. It's always a comfort not to feel worse. But don't rush a house. Who knows that I'm not turned out of England by the Lord—that I'm not a wandering tribe, complete with lamentations. It looks jolly like it to me.