"I haven't any valid reason for not writing: just the works are running down. In March I leave the R.A.F. and it feels like the end of living; so close that nothing between now and then can count. Afterwards; well, I don't know. How does one pass the fag-end of life? If there was any thing which I wanted to do, or thought worth doing, or seeing, or trying, or preventing even; but I'm facing a vacancy. Indeed, yes, the machine is run down. Time's revenge?"