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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume II

August 21, 1922

To Violet Schiff

It's strange to be here again. London is empty, cool, rather shadowy, extraordinarily unlike Paris. I feel sentimental about it. Only the people I've seen so far seem fatigué, fatigué beyond words! One feels that they have come to an agreement not to grow any more to stay just so—all clipped and pruned and tight. As for taking risks, making mistakes, changing their opinions, being in the wrong, committing themselves, losing themselves, being human beings in fact—no, a thousand times! “Let us sit down and have a nice chat about minor eighteenth century poetry—” I never want to sit down and have a nice chat as long as I live.

But it doesn't matter. They can't alter the fact that life is wonderful. It's wonderful enough to sit here writing to you, dear precious friend, and to lean back and think about you. The past lets nothing be. Even our meetings in Paris are changed almost beyond recognition. One sees them, linked together now, and one realises the immense importance of the hero1 of them (whom I never saw and never shall see.)

page 239

But I could write to you forever to-day—and instead I'm going out to lunch with Massingham père. Could one possibly shake him up—lean across the table and say quietly—

1 Marcel Proust.