Dear Mr Ash, I write to you from an unhappy House—and must be brief—for I have an Invalid dependent upon me—my poor Blanche—quite racked with hideous headaches—and nausea—quite prostrated—and unable to pursue the work which is her life. She is engaged on a large painting of Merlin and Vivien—at the moment of the latter’s triumph when she sings the Charm which puts him in her power, to sleep through time. We are very hopeful of this work—’tis all veiled suggestion and local intensity—but she is too ill and cannot go on. I am not in much better case myself—but I make tisanes, which I find
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