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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Louis Umfreville Wilkinson
The Ridge Hastings
16/5/45 E.V.
Dear Louis,
93.
Grant [Kenneth Grant] is gone. I think he pined for his greens—not unnatural in a rabbit!
Anyhow, it's all in a worse mess then when he came; so much so, that I don't know if I ever answered yours of April 17.
There isn't a hope in hell of a vacant room here for months to come—or so they tell me. But if you get a chance to come, it's worth trying, Olivia being pals with V.S. [Vernon Symonds] (He, too, is away touring till Oct 6.) I am more or less fixed here till mid Oct.
I dare say you are right about 'atrabilious'; and yet, I believe that it is my memory which is failing me. I feel somehow that there is classical support for my use of the word. I get nothing of the mystery and terror of "black", but a mess of nausea, venom and stench.—oh for the leisure of the Middle Ages, when we could have attacked each other's morals for 10 years about it!
Well, Grant's departure has left me with endless work to do over again. He got the habit of signing and posting the very letters that I wanted to revise—and I don't know if they were posted at all! What a mess!
So I must close, and quickly. Do come soon, if only for a day which is easy if you're in London.
93 93/93.
Love,
Aleister.
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