ABSTRACT
In January of the year [1916] I had scarlet fever and was in Fairfield Hospital for six weeks. In spite of the misery of the illness and imprison-ment it turned out to be my salvation, because my mind had reached such a pitch, through brooding over the war and my own loss, that I could not read or write with any concentration or take any interest in people or events… I felt when I was better that I was going to start afresh. And also, as is the case after every grave illness, the past was just a little blurred: it seemed to have become more definitely the past…
It was while in hospital, I think, that I got a letter from Marnie, describing how she had been a walk to the Botanics with a fascinating ‘Dr. Malinowski’, relic of the British Association, and how you had called the Czar of Russia ‘a congenital criminal’, which seemed to appeal to her! I was interested enough to remember this quite clearly.
