At R——. Mugged about all day. Put on a gramophone record—then crawled up into a corner of the large, empty drawing room and ate my heart out. Heart has a bitter taste—if it's your own.
May 6.
Sat in the "morning room" feeling ill. In the chair opposite sat Aunt Fanny, aged 86, knitting. I listened to the click of her needles, while out in the garden a thrush sang, and there was a red sunset.
May 8.
Before I left R——, A—— [My brother] had written to Uncle enclosing my doctor's letter. I don't know the details except that Dr. M—— emphasised the seriousness and yet held out hope that two months' rest would allay the symptoms.
May 11.
At Home
I made some offensive remark to H—— whom I met in the street. This set him off.
"You blighter, I hope you marry a loose woman. May your children be all bandy-legged and squint-eyed, may your teeth drop out, and your toes have bunions," and so on in his usual lengthy commination.
I turned to the third man.