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Journal of Katherine Mansfield

[An unposted letter written in the diary.]

[An unposted letter written in the diary.]

February 20. England is like a dream. I am sitting at the window of a little square room furnished with a bed, a wax apple, and an immense page 24 flowery clock. Outside the window there is a garden full of wall flowers and blue enamel sauce-pans. The clocks are striking five and the last rays of sun pour under the swinging blind. It is very hot—the kind of heat that makes one's cheek burn in infancy. But I am so happy I must just send you a word on a spare page of my diary, dear.

I have had some dreadful adventures on my way here because the place is within the Zone of the armies and not allowed to women. The last old Pa-man who saw my passport, ‘M. le Colonel,’ very grand with a black tea-cosy and gold tassel on his head, and smoking what lady novelists call a ‘heavy Egyptian cigarette,’ nearly sent me back.

But, my dear, it's such wonderful country—all rivers and woods and large birds that look blue in the sunlight. I keep thinking of you and L. The French soldiers are pour rire. Even when they are wounded they seem to lean out of their sheds and wave their bandages at the train. But I saw some prisoners to-day—not at all funny. Oh, I have so much to tell you I'd better not begin. We shall see each other some day, won't we, darling?