I don’t see why you shouldn’t have a letter, because it will give me considerable pleasure to write it. What we shall say I don’t know, bit that doesn’t matter. I do hope you didn’t mind me giving up the evening yesterday to a round of introductions, but I do want you to know some of these very grand and sweet people who have been friends of mine, miraculously, for so long. Often I wonder at my fortune in my friends, and now, since I met you, I wonder all the more. It gives one something to try for, something to make success if it could be achieved worth while, because they would all rejoice. Kit, charming, gay, debonnaire, sparkling, Prince of good fortune and big hearted and slightly glamourous is one; Bobby, gentle, quiet-voiced, highly sensitive and delicate in mind, affectionate and large eyed is another; Susan, vivid and swift minded, a lover of sail and Japanese art, is a third; Phyl, generous and loyal, powerfully charactered, sensitive and sensible (strange combination) is the oldest of them all. Those, with you and Jack, make up a team of friends than which no man has a better. So you had to know them. I know their good judgement and their good sense, and I know that they will all like you. But if they don’t, then Hell to them, they can go un-Davided.

                        The Radio Tines have been quite generous with us, haven’t they. Quite a goodish length of space compared with most regional plays. Hope it comes off. We shall see, or rather, hear.

                        Sunday will be nice, because I love your Mother, she is a quite grand person. I feel a bit ashamed, dashlng about with you and leaving her, sort of intruding. Very difficult. I think we pair rather well, because age is purely relative. It is I who have to do the adapting, if any. Having been solitary and alone for so many years has made me selfish and broody at times, but it will pass. Imagine living alone from eighteen to thirty, and you must expect a little monastic egoism. But it seems a desolate time now, in retrospect.

                        No more now, save my love, because there is work to be done. Oh, will you come to Murder in the Cathedral with me next Friday, the 23rd ? I am getting a couple of seats tonight on my way to Bill Hughs’ for the Report on Birds.