January1, 1923
If I were
a dissembler I should date this the last day of 1922. So it is to all
intents. We came back from Rodmell
yesterday, & I am in one of my moods, as the nurses used to call it,
today. And what is it & why? A desire for children, I suppose; for Nessa’s
life; for the sense of flowers breaking all around me involuntarily. Here’s
Angelica—here’s Quentin & Julian.
Now children don’t make yourself ill on plum pudding tonight. We have
people dining. There’s no hot water. The
gas is escaping in Quentin’s bedroom—I pluck what I call flowers at random.
(D2 221)
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