I have a bitter feeling as though Jeanne and I were doing penance, each
in a dark corner of our respective quarters. The Sundays of my childhood
were not worse than this.
In the distance a cracked, tinkling bell "tolls the knell of parting
day." Jeanne and I are depressed by it. I have taken up a dozen
different occupations and dropped them all.
If it were only summer! I am oppressed as though I were sitting in a
close bower of jasmine; but we are in mid-winter, and I have not used a
drop of scent for months.
But, after all, Sundays were no better in the Old Market Place. There I
had Richard from morning till night. To be bored alone is bad; to be
bored in the society of one other person is much worse. And to think
that Richard never even noticed it! His incessant talk reminded me of a
mill-wheel, and I felt as though all the flour was blowing into my eyes.
* * * * *
I will take a brisk constitutional.
* * * * *
What is the matter with me? I am so nervous that I can scarcely hold my
pen.
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