I have been trying to write to you times without number but have failed because you are too far away and because we have not seen each other for such a long time. I feel and have felt for a long time that I have made a mess of things in thinking I could shape this life into something that I could ask you to share with me. I realize that you will dismiss material considerations, but I also know that a minimum must be there for us to make a success of it. The minimum does not look like materializing for a long time to come. The enterprise is up to now a success but to get it that way meant unremitting hard work and will continue to mean that for another two years or possibly more. By this I mean that I get up at half past four and work till dark. I never go out for pleasure and am too tired to live and think as a human being. In addition to all this I find myself increasingly frustrated at the thought of doing nothing more, but just living. While I was laid up I was pressed down by the blackness of the prospect and of the horror of your disillusionment after you had seen for yourself. Don’t for God’s sake think I am saying all this to cover up anything else. There is nothing and nobody—it’s just that the life I had visualized is not coming out as planned and I see no light in the distance. Please forgive me for hurting you and remember it is I not you that have been found wanting. Alec.