Bed-time.
Another thunderbolt--the loudest and horriblest and most abominable yet!
Susan must be stark mad.
Instead of copying out my draft, she has simply tucked it inside the specimen envelope I addressed, and has posted it to Ruddington!
I'm too utterly sick and tired and disgusted to write down in this diary all that Susan said--which wasn't much--and all that I said--which was even less, but entirely to the point. Susan has gone off, crying--as if she's the one with the grievance!
Thank God for bed!
BOOK II
DIEPPE
BOOK II
Saturday night.