In a whirl

Sunday, December 5th., Waterloo Road, Burslem.

 

I happened to see Conrad and Hueffer's "Romance" at Frank's at lunch today , and I took it to read. I read about 20 pages after lunch, before the gas stove in the bedroom, but I doubt if I shall get much further in it. I cannot read in Burslem. All I can do is to go about and take notes which is, of course, as it should be. It would be a nonsense to have this opportunity to absorb the atmosphere and not to take it. With the new book growing in my mind I shall need as much information and impression as I can absorb. This absorption is not a conscious process, in fact quite the opposite. It is about opening oneself to impression.

My mind is in whirl all the time. I have only been here for 5 days and yet all Paris and Avon seems years off; I scarcely ever think of these places and my life there. Sometimes, by accident, I speak to myself or one of the children in French. Slept well last night, nearly 7 hours uninterrupted. The sanatogen cure which I began on Wednesday is already working. What a place Burslem is though, so dirty and downright. And self-satisfied. Marguerite is coming on Saturday. How she will cope I don't know - she may not recognise me by then as I revert to type.