P.S.-How do you know I shan't be dead in ten or fifteen years' time? It's enough to make me.
P.P.S.-It's all very well for Daddy to talk--he doesn't want to learn Chinese.
TUDOR HOUSE.
CHELTENHAM,
Thursday.
DEAR FATHER:
All right. Have it your own way. Only I shall kill myself. You needn't tell Mother that--though it won't matter so much as she'll very likely think. And perhaps then you won't try and stop Nicky going into the Army as you've stopped me.
I don't care a "ram", as Nicky would say, whether you bury me or cremate me; only you might give my Theocritus to old Parsons, and my revolver to Nicky if it doesn't burst. He'd like it.
MICHAEL.
P.S.--If Parsons would rather have my Æschylus he can, or both.
TUDOR HOUSE.
CHELTENHAM,
Sunday.
DARLING MUMMY: