I wondered whether there was any well around here.
I explored. I came across one (such a doubtful well) by an apple tree.
I hastened to my cottage to cut a paper flag.
The poet gave me one cup of claret for the Well-God.
I sat by the well.
What did I pray?
I pried into the well for the fin of a fish. Well without a funa fish isn’t holy to a Jap mind.
23rd—Uncle left the Heights for Frisco.
I have encountered somewhere one picture, “Stolen Kiss,” symbolising sweetness.
I dare say the sweetest thing in the world is to steal into a gentleman’s room and over-turn his things.