It is 7 o’clock in the evening of the coldest day yet. The water has just started to run again and the lights are preparing to go out. They always are, in this half-country. Nothing is warm any more. What’s the use of such a place?
I am waiting for a couple of the chauffeurs who live in the next room, and for whom I have promised to do some interpreting.
Nine-thirty now. The interpreting is over; it seems they wanted to move out of the chateau and are looking for an apartment. No luck tonight.
Next post February 1.
Letters from Sidney Friend During The Great War 