Dearest Diary, Day thirteen.
Visited Cavendish today at his
apartments. Wretched little man kept clawing at my lapels whilst
slurring something about 'repentance' and 'forgiveness'. I suspect
he was drunk. Possibly of the Roman faith, too, which would account
for his scandalous appearance at supper sans cravat. I
believe he is turning yellow.
Reports in The Times of the use of
mustard gas at the Front. Binky has written to the Kaiser to ask him
to send some our way, Old Sport, in order to replenish the condiments
at the Club! Binky's SUCH a top!
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