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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Jane Wolfe
[on the stationary of The Imperial Hotel, Russell Square, London, W.C.1.]
[Undated: 3 December 1936]
Dear 516,
93.
No, I have not come down to this—yet![1] I'm passing by.
Blast Wilfred [Wilfred Talbot Smith]! Why has he not written me a word during the last 7 months? Or sent along any contributions? It has meant the severest privations, and a complete block in the Work at the exact time when a little extra might have turned the wheel altogether.
I am really very annoyed. The discourtesy of not writing in explanation, not answering my letters, not even acknowledging the Word [of the Equinox] is infuriating. In fact, I actually am infuriated.
Why the hell don't you make a going [illegible] with all these talks of yours?
What is the use of any one of you? I had built great hopes upon your efforts, and you did seem to be getting somewhere. And now, what does it all amount to?
93 93/93.
Fraternally,
666.
1—Refers to the "Imperial Hotel" stationary the letter is written on.
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