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November 17th 1907. Seven weeks gone and it would appear nothing done, but that is not true. H. has been in trouble and I have been with him a good deal and I have been cleaning house. House was very much in need of it. And I have done it with no faltering hand but with real strength. Even out of that may come something good. I cannot yet feel sorry that I allowed the house to grow so dirty and disarranged, but then I am not over the cleaning yet, and that makes a difference. I have moved into the new Studio which abounds in suggestion and inspiration. The ceiling is high and ones ideas soar upward. I felt at once that I must do something large in it. Here one could never potter over little things. The light comes down direct from the sky in all its glory and illumines the human form. Great vistas of possibility open out before one. Life is lived in such a place and eras in ones existance marked. That is how it makes me feel and I have not even worked there yet. I know one thing that is sure to happen. I will go through a horrible time of disappointment