27 February 1939 – 5 March 1939

It is unfortunate for truth’s sake that I never write here except when jangled with talk. I only record the dumps and the dismals and them very barely. A holiday from Roger. And one day’s happiness with P.H. Then too many parcels; books coming out; and a head numb at the back. As usual, when I’m prone, all the gnats settle. The usual ones. I needn’t specify. I have to “speak” to polytechnics; and engagements multiply. Innumerable refugees to add to the tangle. There—I’ve recorded them when I said I wouldn’t.