Tuesday 6th October 1936

7:30. A fresh, clean morning. The postman said a letter had arrived yesterday afternoon and was mistakenly put in the empty bungalow next door. I managed to climb in. It was cold and bare: the small white envelope near the door seemed very desolate. When I read that letter I felt more than ever, a nasty piece of work. It was from Gwyn.

It began; “ I am writing this so that you won’t be too lonely tomorrow evening…”