10 a.m.
You will have two letters from Port Said . The one I wrote you two days ago finished in deep melancholy , but to-day it is so good to be alive I could shout with joy . I woke this morning with a jump of delight , and even Mrs. Albert Murray -- she of the hat-box and the many teeth -- could not irritate me , and you ca n't think how many irritating ways the woman has . It is 10 a.m. and we have just come up from breakfast , and have got our deck-chairs placed where they will catch every breeze -LRB- and some salt water -RRB- , and , with a pile of books and two boxes of chocolate , are comfortably settled for the day . You ask about the passengers . We have all sorts and conditions . Quiet people who read and work all day ; rowdy people who never seem happy unless they are throwing cushions or pulling one another downstairs by the feet ; painfully enterprising people who get up sports , sweeps , concerts , and dances , and are full of a tiresome , misplaced energy ; bridge-loving people who play from morning till night ; flirtatious people who frequent dark corners ; happy people who laugh ; sad people who sniff ; and one man who ca n't be classed with anyone else , a sad gentleman , his hair standing fiercely on end , a Greek Testament his constant and only companion .