Monday 29th January 1934

As I write I am smoking my second cigarette today, which will be the last for several days. How delicious it seems! Nearly gone now – another drag – it burns my fingers – it is finished and my fast is begun.

The last thing I listened to, was a Brooke poem “Desertion” New to me. Lovely.
“So light we were, so right we were, so fair faith shone,”
It ended:
“And the shadows gather, falling light, and white with dew,
Whisper and weep and creep to you. Good sleep to you!”