June 1910

It is at last over, this wearisome day, and dusk is beginning to sift in among the branches of the drenched chestnut tree. I think I must have caught cold in my beautiful exultant walk yesterday, for to- day I am ill. I began to work but could not. Fancy wearing two pairs of stockings and two coats and a hot-water bottle in June, and shivering. ... I think it is the pain that makes me shiver and feel dizzy. To be alone all day, in a house whose every sound seems foreign to you, and to feel a terrible confusion in your body which affects you mentally, suddenly pictures for you detestable incidents, revolving personalities, which you only shake off to find recurring again as the pain seems to grow worse again. Alas ! I shall not walk with bare feet in wild woods again. Not until I have grown accustomed to the climate. . . . The only adorable thing I can imagine is for my Grandmother to put me to bed and bring me a bowl of hot bread and milk, and standing with her hands folded, the left thumb over the right, say in her ador- able voice: "There, darling, isn't that nice?" Oh, what a miracle of happiness that would be. To wake later to find her turning down the bedclothes to see if my feet were cold, and wrapping them up in a little pink singlet, softer than cat's fur. . . . Alas !