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122
Tuesday, May 1, 1928

is smudged —, except that in looking back at it now I frown, and probably he does too if he looks back at all, — except that I am angry at myself for not having any courage — any common-sense, — any realization of what a beautiful thing we had found.  Oh, of course it is silly to make a mountain about nothing, — about a too-long-kiss — but I am tired, and foolishly lonely, — and think that Saturday is much farther off than it really is...

Last evening I went to "Le Sacre du Printemps" done in a ballet.  The music is truly thrilling and emotional.  The ballet was beautiful — the sets and costumes were stunning.  I was awfully excited by it —

I found a picture of Dan to-day, which I had at camp with me, and which says on the back "this young intellectual loves you, Aline!"  Did he really?  I wonder.  For a time I was crazy about him; all my recollections
are dimmed except that we used to walk in the park, write letters and notes, and go the [[?Arch Mine]] House.  I was even younger then, but not much less sensible.  What's going to happen to me?

May 10, I've decided Dan did love me!  Does?  He says he "still does"!?

123
[[strikethrough]] Wednesday, May 2, 1928 [[strikethrough]]
Sunday, April 27

To-day Bob left.

Yesterday we had a party;  Charles' friends, Mother's friends, Arnold and Bob.  Bob was sunburned, awfully sunburned with a very red nose and high-lights all over his face, but he looked even more vital and alive!  He was tired and rather mixed up about Life (with a capital L) and about me — us.  I had been feeling the same way — wondering what this was all about, what it meant, what was going to happen.  And finally, after it had become more vague with all the thinking, I decided not to bother about it.  Somehow- the more we spoke the more I liked him — and the more I wondered. I can't describe how I feel toward him.  It is certainly different from anything. 
 It isn't sentimental — it isn't [[?pure]] "sinqiness" — it isn't thrilling, but it's a composite of all these things — and a thousand others, friendship, understanding, romance, — oh — I don't know.  This afternoon we saw each other again for the last time in six months...or eight months.  It was so happily intimate that I felt sad about his going away.  We kissed each other, and laughed with each other; did we love each other?  Distance and Time are excellent tests, perhaps too excellent.  And there is what seems to be an eternity of Time.  I have sort of a funny feeling that we do love one another.  Will we in September, in 
December?  Will we in another week, or another month?  All my theories about being content with an incident