I do get tired--my Lord! how tired!--not of the work but of the confinement, of the useless things I have to spend time on, of the bad digestion that has overtaken me, of London, of the weather, of absence from you all--of the general breaking up of the world, of this mad slaughter of men.

But, after all, this is the common lot now and I am grateful for a chance to do what I can.

That's the true way to look at it.
...

Worry?
I don't worry about anything except the war in general and this mad world so threatened by these devil barbarians.

And I have a feeling that, when we get a few thousand flying machines, we'll put an end to that, alas! with the loss of many of our brave boys.