11 January 1933 My dearest Annerl! What wonderful Christmas gifts you’ve bestowed on me! And so soon after the complete works of Chekhov for my birthday! What can I say? Clifford might be more capable of finding words to express his joy . . . . . . but Etl? He can only sit before this hoard of wonderful, warm, colourful, intimate, elegant things – all chosen by his Annerl – and attempt to suppress the emotion he feels welling up inside him. For an Indian howl of victory might arouse suspicions, and he can’t do somersaults and cartwheels in …
But he kept on writing and writing, looking ever deeper, was always able to find