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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Gerald Yorke
Karlsruherstrasse 2. Berlin-Halensee.
Nov 30 [1931].
C∴[are] F∴[rater]
93.
The Day after St Andrews Day. Bill [Bertha Busch] made a posh haggis.
There was great joy among the angels in Heaven this morning when the Tea arrived. (You get a good mark for the way you sent it—no trouble at all this end) The Devils in Hell are also gloating over the Perique famine.
But the Angels came back at them because Mrs Grey invested all her money in Iridium-pointed, Platinum-edges securities at 99 (probably on Karl's [Karl Germer] advice) and they stand—on slippery snow-covered ice-slopes—at 40. Karl, free of Cora [Cora Eaton] for a week now is almost human, but implacably wroth (like Jehovah) against Bill. It is one hell of a pity that so fine a man should have this raw-egg (I quote Adler [Alfred Adler]) complex.
We wanted to put him up in your room. No No No Nanette Friedrich der Grosse wouldn't hear of it. Oh dear! Oh dear! I do wish people would be reasonable. (I think he would come, but he's afraid that Cora would not like it) Oh dear! Oh dear! Etc etc etc etc etc etc.
I have a hunch that things are moving here; but Magickally I feel that all depends on you, one foot in the boat and one on the quay—No, no, (once more) Nanette.
93 93/93
F∴[raternal]ly
666.
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