Friday. Cairo. Dearest Mother. Father is distinctly better today, but he is not right yet and I am wondering whether he will be able to travel on Monday. It will be a great bore if he can't but of one thing I feel certain and that is that it is not reasonable to let him run any risks. I mean to have a serious talk with his doctor tomorrow and urge him not to let Father do anything foolish. Another point is that if he gets out of bed to travel on Monday, he will not have a moment to pick up the ground he has lost this last day or two and will return no better than he went. If we had to stay, we wd go out to Mena and be perfectly quiet. I am certain you will agree with me about not letting him travel if he is not well, though I still hope we may be able to go. Hugo will go anyhow. He doesn't want to stay. Father has had a touch of dyssentery [sic] and that is not to be trifled with.
As we found he had to have a nurse today anyhow, H and I went off to Sakkarah [Saqqara] and had a delightful day. I upped and introduced himself to the Englishman who is in charge there, a Mr QuiBell, who turned out to be a great friend of Ramsay's. He was most friendly and showed us some extraordinarily interesting frescoed Coptic chapels which he is busy uncovering. There was a charming Frenchman there called Fouquart, whom I will see again if we have to stay longer. He too is excavating. The air and the light in this country are more beautiful than anything I have ever seen. It's so incredibly clear and dry and all the shadows are deep purple and the bare hills take on the most wonderful colours. At sunset the yellow-orange desert and the blue flood water and the green of the young corn look like superlatively brilliant enamel. And one sees half the universe at a glance, it is so clear.

Hugo certainly is a different creature. He is dining out tonight, not a bit tired with his day. Your affectionate daughter Gertrude