T. E. Lawrence to Eric Kennington

Clouds Hill,
Moreton,
Dorset

6. v. 35.

Dear K.,

All over bonfires, the beautiful Dorset, to-night. Twenty six, I think, so far, from my window. Ah well, poor George!

Don't bother about those drawings. Leave it a little while till I revive my humanities and come up to see you. I plan a raid on Holly Copse, to stay with you for a night or two... possible? At your discretion, absolutely: but I do not want to interfere with your development as a nurse. What is the illness? I do hope (by your light hearted reference to it) that it's either over or safe.

The tympanum sounds good. I wonder what it is in. Stone goes out of date slowly, I think.

'You wonder what I am doing'? Well, so do I, in truth. Days seem to dawn, suns to shine, evenings to follow, and then I sleep. What I have done, what I am doing, what I am going to do, puzzle me and bewilder me. Have you ever been a leaf and fallen from your tree in autumn and been really puzzled about it? That's the feeling.

The cottage is all right for me... but how on earth I'll ever be able to put anyone up baffles me. There cannot ever be a bed, a cooking vessel, or a drain in it - and I ask you... are not such things essential to life... necessities? Peace to everybody.

T.E.S.