Vienna
May 10, 1925

Dearest Lou

Sunday afternoon and quiet! This morning with the help of Anna and the typewriter I dealt with my correspondence, which had accumulated as a result of my superannuated imprudence,1 and [now] I can thank you and have a talk with you.

First of all let me thank your dear old gentleman for the charming lines he wrote to someone unknown to him. May he keep well as long as he himself wants to.

As for me, I no longer want to ardently enough. A crust of indifference is slowly creeping up around me; a fact I state without complaining. It is a natural development, a way of beginning to be inorganic. The “detachment of old age,” I think it is called. It must be connected with the decisive crisis in the relationship of the two instincts2 stipulated by me. The change taking place is perhaps not very conspicuous; everything is as interesting as it was before;