Ponsford has been down on us like a sack of coals.

They've shoved forward our dinner-hour to one o'clock, so we're regularly dished over the sports, especially as Saturday afternoon has been changed into morning.

The house will go to the dogs now, _mais que est les odds si longtemps que vous etes heureuses_?
Dig sends his love.

He and I remember the loved ones at home, and try to be good.

By the way, do you think pater could go another five bob?
I'm awfully hard up, my dear Daisy, and should greatly like not to get into evil ways and borrow from Dig.