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"Saturday evg. Waterloo. My Dearest Heart—What a joy it is to have seen you again—it is penetrating through me and still flooding into all the corners of my mind. Anybody else that I had seen five weeks ago I should feel that I had seen quite lately, but with you it seemed an age—I felt quite shy at first and feeling I must find where you were again. Also I thought you wouldn't like me in the mood I get into at Cambridge. I don't like the mood—it is hard, and rather indifferent to real things. That is what makes me sometimes rebel against purely intellectual work. Darling I was sorry to find you so tired and still feeling sick. I do hope you will be better soon and be able to start the winter with some strength to spare.—Dearest please don't ever think that I shan't understand when you give time to P. [Philip] You must know that I don't love only what you give me but all you are and all you give to others. If I ever made it difficult for you to give to others, you would soon cease to care for me—but it is not self-interest that keeps me from grudging.

I shan't have any book except Tolstoy's Life with me Monday so if you think it would be nice to read any poetry or anything you might bring some. But I dare say we shan't want to read.

Goodbye till Monday my Darling. Don't be disappointed in me if you can help it; though I don't quite see how you can help it. Your B."