Overworking

Wednesday, February 15th., Rue de Grenelle, Paris.

I got as far as the death of Mrs. Lessways in "Hilda Lessways" on Sunday afternoon, and sent off the stuff as a specimen to Pinker yesterday. 33,000 words. During this time I haven't had sufficient courage to keep a journal. I suspect that I have been working too hard for 5 weeks regularly. I feel it like an uncomfortable physical sensation all over the top of my head. A very quick sweating walk of half an hour will clear it off, but this may lead, and does lead, to the neuralgia of fatigue and insomnia and so on, and I have to build myself up again with foods. And my digestion is unstable. This afternoon I was experiencing sharp pains in the stomach, and couldn't venture far from the toilet. I have decided to eat nothing else today.

Yesterday I signed the contract with Vedrenne and Eadie for "The Honeymoon" at the Royal Theatre.