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172 Wednesday, June 20, 1928 (2) feel this because he is my brother. Oh God no — but I feel differently to him than to anyone in the whole world — any remark he makes that is nasty cuts — it means more than anyone elses. There has been a queer situation in the family lately. Mothers attitude towards Charles and I, and Peter. It is uncomfortable. Charles and I are one side always. What is it? Too modern? Too intolerant? I think Mother has read too much of Adler's phycology [[psychology]] — She thinks Peter has an inferiority complex — oh god — why can't anyone be considered normal if he is? I was amused at the entries about Orvil that I wrote the end of January. I saw him to-day up in North Shore. He was decidedly affectionate, and put his arms around me quite naturally — and led me into quiet woods, and lakes and trees. Wonderful places — and Orvil — awfully young — awfully good-looking, sincere — and a darling fellow — 173 Thursday, June 21, 1928 God knows why I am writing here and now. It is so terribly long since I have written. I have read all my entries, and diaries are very foolish things. Since the time I finally confessed in writing that I [[?loved]] Dan — I didn't write — because I was ashamed to see how badly I used words in connection with Al — and I didn't want to repeat them with Dan. Words that are written do not express more or less. There are no values to written words — no way of telling how deep is the emotion told. It should be very simple to say — and I suppose it is — I love Dan — deeply and really. And if all should be simple — but it isn't. I must go away — Dan must go away — the fall and winter are vague. We see each other seldom now. We love each other. Charles has been home a long time since I last wrote. He was all I excepted [[expected]] all I had hoped for — and this was much. Somehow he has always been a sort of ideal — a real person. I hope I don't
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