... It has begun to be terribly hot here. The heat caught me unawares, as I have only winter suits here. I am gasping and dreaming of getting away. But where to go? I should like to go to Italy, to Como, but everyone is running away from the heat there. It is hot everywhere in the south of Europe. I should like to go from Trieste to Odessa by steamer, but I don’t know how far it is possible now, in June and July.... If it should be rather hot it doesn’t matter; I should have a flannel suit. I confess I dread the railway journey. It is stifling in the train now, particularly with my asthma, which is made worse by the slightest thing. Besides, there are no sleeping carriages from Vienna right up to Odessa; it would be uncomfortable. And we should get home by railway sooner than we need, and I have not had enough holiday yet. It is so hot one can’t bear one’s clothes, I don’t know what to do. Olga has gone to Freiburg to order a flannel suit for me, there are neither tailors nor shoemakers in Badenweiler. She has taken the suit Dushar made me as a pattern.
I like the food here very much, but it does not seem to suit me; my stomach is constantly being upset. I can’t eat the butter here. Evidently my digestion is hopelessly ruined. It is scarcely possible to cure it by anything but fasting—that is, eating nothing—and that’s the end of it. And the only remedy for the asthma is not moving.
There is not a single decently dressed German woman. The lack of taste makes one depressed.
Well, keep well and happy. My love to Mother, Vanya, George, and all the rest. Write!
I kiss you and press your hand.
Yours, A.
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg