October 24.
Back in London again. Am better, bolstered up with arsenic and strychnine. Too nervously excited to do any work.
October 25.
The letting of our flat is now in the hands of an agent, and E——, poor dear, is quite resigned to abandoning all her precious wallpapers, etc.
November 7.
The flat is let and we are now living in rooms at ——, 20 miles out of London, to the Westward.
November 8.
It is a great relief to be down in the country. Zeppelins terrify me. Have just had a delightful experience in reading Conrad's new book, Victory—a welcome relief from all the tension of the past two months. To outward view, I have been merely a youth getting married, catching the 'flu and giving up a London flat.
Inwardly, I have been whizzing around like a Catherine Wheel. Consider the items: