Last evening at 7.30 I received a letter from Trench accepting "The Honeymoon" definitely. (And today I heard from Lee Mathews who had received the second £100) I had a great fit of triumph, as I thought about all this Haymarket play might mean. But it soon passed. I had been looking for this Haymarket acceptance for weeks as a sort of goal, but it meant nothing to me, really. In fact this morning I soon found a new source of worry, as my Chronicle article did not appear as it ought to have done.
I wrote 1200 words yesterday, though not making a start until nearly 5 o'clock. And 2,300 words today. But it will take me all my time to finish the second part of "Clayhanger" by next Thursday. Yesterday morning, being not fit enough for work, I walked to Rottingdean and back along the cliffs. The sight of sea and downs did me a sort of vague spiritual good.
Man bearing a card: Blind, through boy throwing mortar. Discharged by four hospitals. Incurable.
He evidently had been a street beggar for some time. He had the continual stamping movement of such beggars. What a tragedy! It wouldn't bear much thinking about. Useful for my book though:
|Dudley tunnel and limestone caverns entrance|