8
What is it in me that stands back? Why can’t it explain? My head will burst if it can’t explain. If I die now in wild anger it only makes the thing more laughable on the whole.... That old man lives quite alone in a little gaslit lodging. When he comes out he is quite alone. There is nothing touching him anywhere. He will go quietly on like that till he dies. But he is me. I saw myself in his eyes that day. But he must have money. He can live like that with nothing to do but read and think and roam about because he has money. It isn’t fair. Some woman cleans his room and does his laundry. His thoughts about women are awful. It’s the best way ... but I’ve made all sorts of plans for the holidays. After that I will save and never see anybody and never stir out of Bloomsbury. The woman in black works. It’s only in the evenings she can roam about seeing nothing. But the people she works for know nothing about her. She knows. She is sweeter than he. She is sweet. I like her. But he is more me.