I’ve been doing a good deal of thinking, the last few hours. I’ve been wondering if I’m a Lost Cause. And I’ve been wondering why women should want to put sugar in their claret. If it’s made to be bitter, why not accept the bitterness, and let it go at that?
Friday the Twelfth
Dinky-Dunk has just sent word that he will be home to-morrow night and asks if I’ll mind motoring in to Buckhorn for him.
It impresses me as a non-committal little message, yet it means more to me than I imagined. My husband is coming home.
Susie has been eying me all afternoon, with a pucker of perplexity about her lapis-lazuli eyes. We are busy, getting things to rights. And I’ve made an appallingly long list of what I must buy in Buckhorn to-morrow. Even Struthers has perked up a bit, and is making furtive preparations for a sage-tea wash in the morning.