This Is My Dedication
Dear Valerie,
When a writer admits that he has an affection for something which he has written, it is high time to pray for his soul. Yet I make bold to confess that there are in this book some passages which I hold dear—a seeming vanity, which must be explained.
Many times you have found me at work upon these chapters. Often you have taken ill-written pages of manuscript from my table and, sitting down in a chair, deciphered them for what they were worth. Once or twice, whilst you read, you have fallen into silvery laughter.
As many as see you are glad of the sight. All who know you are proud of the honour. But the man whose efforts your mirth has commended is the proudest and happiest of the lot.
Need I say that your name is not Valerie? I think not. You will know whom I mean.
Most faithfully yours,
Dornford Yates.
Pau, November, 1920.