Full swing

Thursday, January 18th., Hotel Californie, Cannes.

Yesterday I finished the fifth article of the Harper's series. And today I turned towards the construction of the sequel to "The Card" for the American Magazine. It is only between two spells of work that I can find time for unimportant correspondence, notes etc. My days are always absolutely full; without counting that I have had three abscesses, two together, as a result of a chill in December. The last one is not yet gone, quite.

I am now in the full swing of my ordinary day; writing, reading a lot of newspapers and several books at once. I bought Whymper's "Scrambles among the Alps", and Stendhal's "Vie de Napoleon", and began reading them together, and immediately felt that I had got hold of two rattling good things. These, with a daily instalment of Sorel's "L'Europe et la Revolution Francais", keep me busy.

Marguerite seems continually surprised that I have more than one book on the go at any one time. Claims that she would be confused and mix them up. Well I don't. I have a sort of system whereby I have a serious book which I read after my nap, when I am rested, a general daytime book of the pick up - put down sort, and a book for reading in bed which is usually a novel, but not necessarily. Of course I don't read non-fiction books word for word. No point. The idea is to get a general impression which stays in the mind. So I do get through more books than the average reader.

I have received an invitation to be Guest of Honour at a dinner of the Writers' Club. Very flattering, but I have declined. That sort of thing is entirely out of my line. I told them that I am merely a writer, not at all a speaker. When I was in America I refused nearly a hundred invitations to lecture or read at a minimum of £100 a time. That shows how serious is my objection to exposing myself. 

I must say that Marguerite has blossomed here. Very stylish and desirable at present. I have noticed that she is attracting admiring looks when we walk out, which is gratifying I find. In consequence I have found my own ardour to be greater than it has been of late. Very pleasurable! I intend to buy her some new clothes, especially flimsy undergarments!

Rattling good things

Thursday, January 18th., Hotel Californie, Cannes.

Yesterday I finished the fifth article of the Harper's series. And today I turned towards the construction of the sequel to "The Card" (I haven't decided what to title it yet) for the American Magazine. It is only between two spells of work that I can find time for unimportant correspondence, notes etc. For example I wrote declining an invitation to speak at a dinner of the Writers' Club. The invitation, from a Miss Simpson, was most flattering but that sort of thing is entirely out of my line; I consistently refuse speaking engagements though I could make money from them.

I had a letter from my cousin in the Isle of Man, and must reply to that before I get immersed in the novel. Also, she mentioned a couple of things which perplexed me and I must ask about them. She seems well and was extolling the virtues of the mild Isle of Man climate - no extremes of weather apparently. No doubt she has a point, but I would rather be in Cannes! 

My days are always full at the moment, without counting that I have hadthree abcesses, two together, as a result of a chill in December. The last one is not yet gone, quite. 

I am now in the full swing of my ordinary day: writing, reading a lot of newspapers, and several books at once. I bought Whymper's "Scrambles among the Alps", and Stendhal's "Vie de Napoleon", and began reading them together, and immediately felt that I had got hold of two rattling good things. These, with a more or les daily instalment of Sorel's "l'Europe et la Revolution Francais", keep me busy.