I know its coming by the sound of the screw, but I take
care never to see it pass. What if I were seized with an impulse to
embark on her....
If one fine morning when Jeanne brought the tea she found the bird
flown?
The time is gone by. Life is over.
I am getting used to sitting here and stitching at my seam. My work does
not amount to much, but the mechanical movement brings a kind of
restfulness.
I find I am getting rather capricious. Between meals I ring two or three
times a day for tea--like a convalescent trying a fattening cure. Jeanne
attends to my hair with indefatigable care. Without her, should I ever
trouble to do it at all?
What can any human being want more than this peace and silence?
* * * * *
If I could only lose this sense of being empty-handed, all would be
well. Yesterday I went down to the seashore and gathered little pebbles.
I carried them away and amused myself by taking them up in handfuls.
During the night I felt impelled to get up and fetch them, and this
morning I awoke with a round stone in each hand.
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