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162 con. July 17-23 [[strikethrough]] Sunday, June 10, 1928 [[strikethrough]] July 17 clever and sparkeling and "nice". Vicente, Andrés, Raymond, Antonio, Alexander completed the group. Big glasses of sherry-brandy, maraschino, and large pieces of the Island fruit seemed like ambrosia. Reed and I sat and talked and I realized then that he was serious about liking me a great deal – and would make an effort to come to Polenca to see me. With the aid of a tinny Victrola we danced and I learned a great deal of French and not so much tango. After supper Mother and I went to the Café. Reed and I sat to-gether and kept up a [[?unwavering]] conversation..... July 18 There was something indescribable about Pollenca. It is intensely beautiful and intimate, but there is something more than that....content....peace... I don't know. But there were too many of the wrong people. Dr. and Mrs. Jepson were typically English, but rather good sorts. Colonel Pierce was a very English, elongated edition of Bert Lahr, and his friend, Mr. Wilkenson, who had "a [[?liver]]," an immodest orange bathing suit, and a pleasing appearance in a dinner- coat, was rather timid and effeminate. Swimming was wonderful and the walk back "the long road" was was nice. July 19 Saturday, Nell and Sue and Andrés and Vicente and Raymond came over. They were loud and peppy, but quite enjoyable. Andrés, besides being really handsome, had a great deal of magnetism and brains. Sue was again invaluble. Nell, poor dear Nell, twenty-three, a school teacher in the 163 con. July 12-23 [[strikethrough]] Monday, June 11, 1928 [[strikethrough]] Tennessee Mountains, not really attractive, but longing for [[strikethrough]] an [[strikethrough]] a romance, Nell in rayon bloomers, and with dried lips – and yet a dear sort of person. The evening was deadly – misquitoes and noisy children. But I found a perfect place – sitting on a bench in a garden which finished the porch, leaning against one of the many pillars which were covered with purple morning-glories. July 19 The end of the house went back, that dead-grey-white of the night, with the roof only a black line to separate it from the starry sky. Two windows gave rectangles of yellow light, slit by the narrow, perpendicular lines of the closed shutters. Hominess and comfortableness and friendliness seemed to be everywhere – and in me. And I thought of my "delicious" hours with Bob..... July 20 Sunday Reed came....looking darling. Tall, and his head high, the red hair bright in the sun, the green eyes alive and imploring when they looked into mine – Reed, eager and happy – and loving me – really – dearly! Lunch – and he and I took a walk. What ever made me do it, I don't know, but I told him truthfully I loved Bob more – and therefore I couldn't kiss him.... It hurt him. I've never see anyone look more hurt – and the light died in the laughing eyes – and they were dull –. I felt terrible because I loved him too.... We came back finally to a little low stone wall, and he buried his head in my arms and laid it against my breast and cried a bit, and laughed at himself a bit, and told me he "wanted me" –
