"Sunday evg." Tomorrow, dinner with Wittgenstein.

"But although I am really quite sane again, and not thinking any black thoughts, I do still feel that, when I am tired or busy, it is a mistake for us to meet at times when you can't seem as if it was a pleasure to see me. Last time certainly the impression you gave was that seeing me was a boring duty.—I was tired when I came, but much more so when I left you at Paddington. At first I was too tired to feel anything except the need of rest—it was only after I had begun to feel rested that other feelings came to the surface. I know the impression you give is not altogether the truth, but it hurts all the same. I have been troubled terribly these last days by the deadness of my feelings towards you—I suppose that was due to fatigue, just as it is with you. Tonight they have begun to revive, and I have no doubt they will be quite alive again by Tuesday. I am reckoning on reaching you at one. Don't bother to meet me; I will walk to the Beetle and Wedge, and reach you when I think you will have finished your rest."