As, Just Beneath The Skin, I am.
So my written account must come out someways dissatisfying and exasperating. Logically dissatisfying and divinely and ethically exasperating.
—a passage in Vergil tells of a Mist that is all over and about this world from the human ‘tears that are falling, falling, falling always.’ Something, and it may be that Mist, makes one’s view of everything—everything in life—a little blurred. It may even blur one’s view of oneself. So it may be I do not see myself with entire clearness—
I only know I write me as clearly as I see me, considering the Mist.
[A white liner]
To-morrow
TO-DAY came the Finn woman and cleaned my blue-and-white bedroom.
She comes now and again and cleans excellently.