Tom's letters are terse, and, as I told you last month, we are still rather troubled about him.
My love to the orphans, with their proper little plaits and their shiny cheeks. And that they may continue to rejoice their matron's heart is the prayer of
Her affectionate brother
Peter.
[VII]
To Harry Carthew, Trenant Hotel, Leeds.
91b Harley Street, W.,
April 8, 1910.
My dear Carthew,
I believe every word you tell me about yourself—that you are feeling, that is to say, pumped-out, uncertain, doubtful each morning if you can get through the day without breaking down, and as a result of it all, very wretched and depressed. At the same time I can only assure you, and I think you must accept my word as a trained man, that you are physically sound, and indeed at this very moment a "first-class life."