I think it is good for the nerves, and
mine are in a terrible condition.
So in future, having no dear men, I can flirt with the little stars in
God's heaven.
Moreover, my villa is remarkable for its beautiful situation, its
fortress-like architecture, and--please make a note of this--its
splendid inhospitality. The garden hedge which encloses it is as high as
the wall of the women's penitentiary at Christianshafen. The gates are
never open, and there is no lodge-keeper. The forest adjoins the garden,
and the garden runs down to the water's edge. The original owner of the
estate was a crank who lived in a hut, which was so overgrown with moss
and creepers that I did not pull it down. Never in my life has anything
given me such delight as the anticipation of this hermit-like existence.
At the same time, I have engaged a first-rate cook, called Torp, who
seems to have the cookery of every country as pat as the Lord's Prayer.
I have no intention of living upon bread and water and virtue.
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