writing is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial.
Am I too fast, too facile? I do not know. I do not know myself sometimes, or how to measure and name and count out the grains that make me what I am.
For we think back through our mothers if we are women.
That great Cathedral space which was childhood.
I have lost friends, some by death...others by sheer inability to cross the street.
I was lying in bed this morning and saying to myself, 'the remarkable thing about Ethel is her stupendous self-satisfaction' when in came your letter to confirm this profound psychological observation. How delighted I was!