Claflin Hall,
Saturday nightDear Margaret:
It is wonderfully still tonight. Ann is away and the household has gone to some big college thing. My Tower has an enchanted air and I would that you might come into it. Before we die, do you suppose there will be an airline service so that we can drop in for an evening's visit now and then? It has been an impossibly unreal week, has n't it? Why teach, why do anything while flings [?] trouble so fast into the scrap heap, and all the old orders change?
After the wild four o'clock tumult Monday, I later had a little broken dream which has been often in my mind this week. I thought I was lecturing at first in a little room, then in a huge hall where great crowds were passing. A man muffled and strange stood in my way and I recognized the Kaiser just as I said - "Stand back - while I tell of Piers Plowman." Certainly it is only the broken chaos of Piers, with its gleams and visions, that is like anything in the world today.
I did not hear Lieut Dawson but did not want to very much anyway. He had not greatness enough for this great week. There were many who heard him and were sorry - but of course a good many were hero-worshippers too.
I hope you had the days at home and gave the dear family my love. Oh, Margaret, how it goes about you, seeking and finding, but never content without your actual presence.
Yours, Laura.
Two doctors this week agreed on no more operations but one is making me give up coffee. Life is hardly worth it!