Sixty-six years ago today Virginia Woolf drowned herself in the Ouse. If I was not in Cambridge (not somewhere without Woolfian associations) I might have gone to the river bank near Rodmell. I doubt if the precise spot where she entered the water is known; her body was not found for some days.
I have been reading her diaries, on and off. Sometimes I need to go back to the notes to remind myself who people on the Bloomsbury periphery are, but otherwise they are easily read in short bursts.
See here for the Virgina Woolf Society
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