'And, 30. 8. 17. I am exceedingly busy, but I am enjoying it all. My health is as bad as ever and I have recovered my famous lead-poisoning hue. I expect you, however, to return with the bloom of roses and the stains of coffee on your cheeks. So make up your mind to sleep and do it. . . .
In the first week of September there began
the most persistent series of air-raids that occurred
at any stage during the war.
Last night, Teixeira writes, 5. 9. 17, was made hideous by a pack of confounded Germans who came over London and created no end of a din. I looked out of the window, saw one shell burst in a south-easterly direction, debated whether to go below or remain in bed and remained in bed.
'[My cook], from her basement, appears to have obtained a much clearer aural view:
"Didn't you hear them two raiders firing bom-m-ms at each other, sir?"
There spoke your Sinn Feiner: they were both raiders to her. The row lasted for over two hours; and I feel an utter wreck. Lord knows what mischief the brutes have done this time.
Vale et nos ama.
