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Journal of Katherine Mansfield

[From an unposted letter.]

[From an unposted letter.]

It's a chill, strange day. I can just get about. I decided this morning to write to S—about the Swiss Spahlinger treatment: whether it would be suitable for me, etc. And I shall wire you tomorrow, asking you to go and see S—. Say what you like. But let him know that I am practically a hopeless invalid. I have tried to explain about money to him; why I haven't paid him, and I have promised to pay the first moment I can….

August. “I have been writing a story about an old man.”

She looked vague. “But I don't think I like old men—do you?” said she. “They exude so.”

This horrified me. It seemed so infernally petty, and more than that… it was the saying of a vulgar little mind.

Later: I think it was shyness.

August 11. I don't know how I may write this next story. It's so difficult. But I suppose I shall. The trouble is I am so infernally cold.

[The “next story” was The Voyage. The finished manuscript is dated August 14, 1921.]