'I have a poet in stock here, a poor ass in the infirmary with one leg off and the other more than shaky − scrofula you know − but [italics]bougrement[end italics] intelligent, and he writes straight enough verses, I think. He?s learning, you know. But he makes good songs [and] here and there has a good idea. His hospital sonnets are very true and boldly real − not realistic, a word I have now learned to hate.'