15 February 1932 – 21 February 1932

And I have just “finished”—I use inverted commas ironically—my Donne, a great but I think well intentioned grind. And I’m quivering and itching to write my—what’s it to be called?—“Men are like that”?—no, that’s too patently feminist. The sequel then, for which I have collected enough powder to blow up St. Pauls. It is to have four pictures. And I must go on with the Common Reader —for one thing, by way of proving my credentials.