November 23.

I am sitting in the sun, having read your letter.  The valley of the ——­ is below me, a mile wide, all reed-beds and half submerged willows, with the main stream lying like a blue snake amongst pale acres of sedge.

Damn!  I was going to write a long and cosy letter, but was called back.  I had escaped for an hour from Orderly Room with your letter and a sketchbook, and was caught in the act.  No time now.

November 25.

[Sidenote:  THE SOMME VALLEY]

A few more moments with you before you go to bed.

Yes, isn’t it funny how we seem to be talking face to face!  And to every question of mine you reply in three days’ time and vice versa.  It always sounds to me like this, rather: 

QUESTION.  ANSWER.

Mon. Isn’t it cold?  None. Tues. Have you seen mother?  None. Wed. Are you happy?  None. Thurs. How are you all?  Freezing. Fri. When did I see you last?  Only yesterday. Sat. May I have a cake!  Yes, very. Sun. How is Queen Anne?  Much better. Mon. None.  Last April. Tues. None.  I’ll send one. Wed. None.  Dead.

Don’t you find it’s a bit like that?  What question can I have asked a week ago to which the answer is a rabbit?  So tiresome when we want to talk at very close range.

As to leave—­well let’s not talk about that.  Every dog has his day.

You know the dog who has been shut up in a kennel for a long time?  Or the dog who has been locked up in an empty house for a long time?  It’ll be a mixture of these.

Well, the day will come.

November 27.

Can’t write properly because it’s very cold and I’ve been riding, and that makes one’s fingers like pink bananas.  They don’t seem to answer to the bridle.  There’s an awful noise of hissing going on.  Hale and Hunt are busy on the horses.

November 28.

A box will arrive containing another Bristol ball, which I discovered in a cottage here, and bought for 1fr. 50c.  Rather a jolly green one, biggish.  Also I am enclosing the wineglass from Geudecourt, which I mentioned some time ago.  There can’t be any harm in mentioning this name, as we have left that area some time now.  I have got several sketches of other places round about there, which I hope you will like.  Won’t it be fun, when the time comes, looking at them.  To-day Hunt came round in a great state about the horses.  Jezebel had pulled up her shackle, and was in “one of her moods,” as Hunt always describes it.  She had been kicking both Tank and Swallow with great violence.  He had left Hale trying to get her quiet, and rushed up to report.

She was quiet again when I got down, and Hale had tied her up successfully.