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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


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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