28 December 1922

La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon

   You see Bogey if I were allowed one single cry to God that cry would be I want to be REAL. Until I am that I don't see why I shouldn't be at the mercy of old Eve in her various manifestations for ever.
   But this place has taught me so far how unreal I am. It has taken from me one thing after another (the things never were mine) until at this present moment all I know really really is that I am not annihilated and that I hope - more than hope - believe. It is hard to explain and I am always a bit afraid of boring you in letters.
   I heard from Brett yesterday. She gave me a very horrid picture of the present Sullivan and his views on life and women. I don't know how much of it is even vaguely true but it corresponds to Sullivan the Exhibitionist. The pity of it is life is so short and we waste about 9/1O of it - simply throw it away. I always feel Sullivan refuses to face the fact of his wastefulness. And sometimes one feels he never will. All will pass like a dream, with mock comforts, mock consolations . . . [To J. M. Murry, 26 December 1922.]