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[[strikethrough]] Thursday, April 5, 1928 [[/strikethrough]] Sat. Jan. 19, 1929 God only knows why I am writing this. It is beastly early for a Sunday morning - just half past seven. And so terribly quiet. I wish it wasn't so quiet — I wish the drill of the building would begin, [[strikethrough]] but [[/strikethrough]] because there is a drill in me, and I hear it too plainly. The family are all asleep — and they will stay so for hours. For the first time in my life I feel anguish—. Last night, after weeks of waiting and with only the showing of a little love for me, O.E.D. kissed me [[strikethrough]] as [[/strikethrough]] the way he had never done before and told me he truly loved me. It was divine — but it was too much happiness. I thought it was the happiness, that has followed these weeks of rain — and sunshine. But if [[strikethrough]] it [[/strikethrough]] times in those week brought me pain — this feeling now — is — I don't know. How comparative everything is anyway! Then I wondered if the reason he loved me so much again, was on account of B. and J. — But it seemed so real and true and much too wonderful. Later in the evening — we had each been talking to the others — and then I came and sat with him and he was terribly sad. I guessed it was B — and I tried to comfort him, telling him she does love him 97 Friday, April 6, 1928 lots — even if not best. And the more I comforted him, the more unhappy I became. It was agony seeking him sit there and break his heart about [[strikethrough]] and [[/strikethrough]] B — and me near him — holding his hand, having my finger tips kissed, beseeching him with my eyes — hurting my heart so frightfully. I told him after this night [[strikethrough]] that [[/strikethrough]], I shouldn't bother him with my love — and he clutched me tight and said I wasn't a bother. But now I wonder — am I bother or just a substitute? Or perhaps he really loves me the much he acted, — but something bothers him. Every time I remembered our days to-gether .. our joking, silly, happy days — and our kisses, and the wonderful time in the country — and the divine kiss last night — I could hardly hold the tears back. It is almost a perfect circle. B loves J, O. loves B — and me — I love O.E.D. There is something subtle in finger tips — something deep in a touch — and as there was something less obvious as we sat anguished and comforting — stroking each others hands and [[strikethrough]] [[?ce]] [[/strikethrough]] — and God how it hurts. I must straighten it out — and I can't. I don't