There was Adam who had morbidly incited him to a notebook, a damnable, pervasive notebook which he tried in vain to ignore.

There was Whitaker, to whom, at a loose end, he wrote a great many letters of rebuke, some stately, some less so.

There was Brian, whose absence had revolutionized his pleasant way of life; and Garry and Jan and Sid, who at any cost merely wanted him to work.

Grievance enough for any man who resented the disturbance of unneeded change.
The truth of it was, he owned at times, he was homesick for Joan and fed his loneliness with letters he felt himself obliged to write.

That was inevitable, for he had fled from an idyl and the memory of its charm must lessen slowly.