They wrote it this week: A duchess finds excuses not to join her ill hubbie
Extracts from diaries and letters written between April 6 and April 12
John and I went to Peter Nichols’s flat & talked till one o’c. I walked all the way home. My feet were murder at the finish. Several prostitutes accosted me on the way. Charming. One of them said “My feet are bleedin’ frozen” and I felt a wave of compassion sweep over my tired body...
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