Sunday-the doctor's paradise! Doctors at country clubs, doctors at the seaside, doctors with mistresses, doctors with wives, doctors in church, doctors in yachts, doctors everywhere resolutely being people, not doctors.

Let me not be weak and tell others how bleeding I am internally; how day by day it drips, and gathers, and congeals.

I love the people,' I said. 'I have room in me for love, and for ever so many little lives.

And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die.

You are a dream; I hope I never meet you.

This is newness: every little tawdry Obstacle glass-wrapped and peculiar, Glinting and clinking in a saint's falsetto. Only you Don't know what to make of the sudden slippiness, The blind, white, awful, inaccessible slant. There's no getting up it by the words you know. No getting up by elephant or wheel or shoe. We have only come to look. You are too new To want the world in a glass hat.

I am solitary as grass. What is it I miss? Shall I ever find it, whatever it is?