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164 (con) July 17-23 [[strikethrough]] Tuesday, June 12, 1928 [[/strikethrough]] and so on. And I thought of Brooke's "Unfortunate"....It seems he thought I really had an affair - and was surprised to know I hadn't - but decent - and sad - and terribly sweet. Home in the car with Mother - and tea. After supper he and I took a walk for a while and stopped and I kissed him once - and he was happier. But I felt so cruel - hurting him and loving him - .... [[left margin]] July 20 [[/left margin]] Monday morning with him on the beach and I'm afraid I was horribly casual....Lunch. the afternoon with the two American fellows. then Perry, witty and clever and cute - and the others. Reed at my side - sad and darling...knowing it was the end for us -- and I was sad. He left me this letter--- [[left margin]] July 21 [[/left margin]] "Aline [[hon?]] - You are gone...now...and it is lonesome...like the end of a trail. Blue it is...without you; and with a sort of grayness. Blue, I love blue...always; but gray...I hate when the sun goes down it is gray; the sun has gone down now...and the world is gray...and you're gone too. "It is odd...some of the things one thinks in moments like this...an odd hurt. Your mother, too, would understand...I think you've a mother who understands much. She understands, too, that all things have an end. Do you? I think you do...Honey-girl...and sometimes that "end" is Hell to achieve. Lucky Bob... "Eh, well...Now is the time I feel an almost uncontrollable desire to go back to sea; but that is really hard work...too plebian [[plebeian]]...and, no matter how lovely the [[incentive?]]...I am in no mood for disadvantageous sacrifices. So you see, after all, I am selfish...wonder if you still protest I'm not??? Hats off to Charles [[Algarnon S.?]] Oh, Proserpine! What a goddess you must have been..."who gathers all things mortal with wild immortal hands...." "This Island--la Isla Baleares---it keeps coming into my mind like a curse. It is big; it is lovely. It has always been that way to me, but now it is somber---like an abyss of unfathomable deeps---deep deep down...chaotic. Playing God---call up Pau [[?]]---you and the moon---and let us say to you once more: "I love you, honey-girl---" It is hard to write---this letter. My thoughts go around in circles---whirling---in tight vortices---like a fog. I think of you: I love you---I see you, always, your face. It is ever there---coming and going---as a leisurely eye, blinking slowly through the mists. I love you--want you--and I know I'll never have you. Knowing that makes the love of you---the lonliness for you--no less poignant. Time, of course,---the prelude, the paean, the finale to all things---is the answer...the consolation; and many will be the days when thoughts of you...the love and faint sweet smell of you---the memory of you, Honey-Girl--
