Friday, 19 April 2013

19th April 1933 - Terrick to Mary

Grand Hotel des Palmiers
Boulevard Victor-Hugo
Nice (A.-M.)

Wednesday 19th April

Oh, why don't you write!  For the first time I feel really hundreds of miles away from London.  I begin to think that the feindishness of the two women and the tiresomness of the Yorkshire people is really only inside me.  When I go to the concierge every morning and find no letter from you I am in the mood to find everyone irritating.

Perhaps your letter has gone astray.  Or perhaps my last one did and you are still waiting for it.  Anyhow I'll send this off today.

Yesterday I went to San Remo in the daytime and made up a casino party for Monte Carlo in the evening.  One of the clients won £15, another 350 francs, another 150 francs.  Today I have sent the party off without me as I have too much to do.

I don't feel like writing much news; all I am interested in is: why no letter from you.

I have been given tickets for a ball on Saturday.  I wish I could take you to it.  I don't quite know whom I shall go with.

Work seems so empty, mechanical and aimless.  I feel like a robot moving about among the clients, a robot made out of a human being by the extraction of certain basic human feelings; like a jig-saw piece, the piece it fits into lost, and so separated from the whole picture.  So do write.

Well, I must get some work done.



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