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[[strikethrough]] Sunday, April 29, 1928 [[/strikethrough]]

He is full of adventure and youth and the joy of living. He is impressed with the necessity of work and routine. He is keen to beauty, nature and art, poetry.  Alive to the sound of tires on aphalt, the slender, curling stream of smoke; "the tea hangs on the air an amber stream"; the moods of people; people; ideas; Death; Life; religion; Time; love. He is almost
obsessed with the idea of not becoming "a butter-and-egg-man" and the importance of keeping balance. After all balance is vital.  All my ideas and fears of becoming horribly domestic with no other interests or so wrapped in outside interests that I forget domesticity are a desire for balance, but never called that. He is delightful company, because he is such a grand person.  We have seen each other [[strikethrough]] ever [[/strikethrough]] almost every day. Rather subconsciously I saw the importance of keeping the emotions at an "even tempo", and somehow, also probably subconsciously I suceeded.  
So did Bob. That is why I don't feel unhappy about his going away; That is why the good-bye kiss was nothing more than completing a rich incident; that is why  I miss him; that is why I have "the tender ache of feeling sad".

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[[strikethrough]] Monday, April 30, 1928 Tuesday [[]strikethrough]] Wednesday April 23. 1930

Bob didn't go on Sunday. Monday afternoon we had tea, which I feared was going to be anti-climatic, but it wasn't. Supper. And we stood by the window for ages, talking, laughing, getting too near the wet paint, and then we kissed each other. We decided then that it was foolish; foolish because this was too perfect spiritually to spoil by physical excitement. And we were content. Tuesday we went to South Orange to get a car. Tuesday was a "schöner Tag". There were lots of choices and lots of sun, and a rather pleasing wind. I felt deliciously care-free and couldn't become serious about getting to school, about Bob's going away, about anything [[strikethrough]] realistically [[/strikethrough]] real in the routine sense of the word. And we drove up around Fieldston, looking at the charming little houses, laughing in the sky, being happy and alive, — in a "holiday mood".  Twice we kissed, naturally happily — just as we should have done — it was part of the relationship. And then he parked the car and sent Harry to look for the opening of a gate, and we kissed each other again.  How awfully sorry I am now! How foolish of me, perhaps, to make it important — but I do feel sorry about it. We were so completely happy without it, and it wasn't natural, and it made the whole thing so much like everything else that it rather cheapened everything...and Bob felt that way too. I suppose it hasn't made any difference — except that one corner of the picture [[strikethrough]] for [[/strikethrough]] of retrospect