8 Nov 1921

8 November 1921

Chalet des Sapins, Montana-sur-Sierre, Switzerland

Dearest Brett,
   Forgive my silence lately. I have been wrestling with work which wouldn't be done and had to be done in time. I did, in fact, write you a letter. But then I tore it up. It seemed to me not worth sending, and it wasn't. I have thought of you often and wished that I could whip up my pen. But it was a dry pen, a cold pen, the kind I do dislike getting.
   Now I must begin a Service of Thanks. First for your letter & then for the little photograph which is the spit of you, and then for t'other photograph in the cape and cap. How well I remember those caps, especially pinned down at the back on to ones wad of hair. I had a pale blue one for one of my journeys to New Zealand and draped with a pale blue gossamer veil I felt - fearfully chic and dashing. Human flesh & blood doesn't dare to think what it really looked like . . . My sister Chaddie has an immense book full of photographs from the age of 6 months. It is the most chastening book I know. Really, ones hats, ones waists and a small black round cap with wings I used to affect which I called always my wooza. It was rather a good name for it. But worn in conjunction with a linen collar and large tie . . . I have never let M. see that book. It is too shattering.  [To Dorothy Brett, 11 November 1921.]