Heaven be eternally praised that I have no children, and have been spared all the ailments which can be "cured" by women's specialists!
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Ye powers! How interminable a day can be! Surely every day contains forty-eight hours!
I can actually watch the seconds oozing away, drop by drop.... Or rather, they fall slowly on my head, like dust upon a polished table. My hair is getting steadily greyer.
It is not surprising, because I neglect it.
But what is the use of keeping it artificially brown with lotions and pomades? Let it go grey!
Torp has observed that I take far more pleasure in good cooking than I did at first.
My dresses are getting too tight. I miss my masseuse.
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To-day I inspected my linen cupboard with all the care of the lady superior of an aristocratic convent. I delighted in the spectacle of the snowy-white piles, and counted it all. I am careful with my money, and yet I like to have great supplies in the house. The more bottles, cases, and bags I see in the larder, the better pleased I am. In that respect Torp and I are agreed. If we were cut off from the outer world by flood, or an earthquake, we could hold out for a considerable time.