Friday
Slow, ruddy dawn, the sun creeping along the bedroom wall.
Hull has now definitely forbidden me (or anybody else) to go into the Muniment Room, so this afternoon I went to see Sir Gurney Benham about it. He was very cold and off-hand, and said that he could not see why he should have to be bothered with “these trivial matters”, and that he thought it most extraordinary that at the Museum we should all be at loggerheads. My blood rose, and I felt very glad that I had made that new will last night. He gave me to understand that he wished that the War Agricultural Committee would leave Holly Trees. So do I, and I assured him very coldly that nothing would keep us there a day after we had found another place.
Saw Pim Barbour, the horse dealer today, driving a fresh turnout, very smart. He waved his whip to me most affably. Feel I shall have to sell Robin. Cannot carry on.
No comments:
Post a Comment