Hugh had trouble settling today. It has been terribly cold. I have not called up V. tonight as I usually do because I don't know what I might say to her.
Written on separate sheets of paper, inserted in the diary.
Have felt terrible all day. Not physically ill, just mentally despondent. Life seems such a bore, a Hell on earth. V. seems to drift away, the world seems so crude, so dumb, no touch of beauty to humanize it. When I see others trodding along, head's down mouth's drooping, eye's dulled, I feel as though my grasping for light is but the gasp of a crazed brain. Mayhaps it is. V - thank God, often comes drifting into my thoughts when I get in this mood, and makes things a littte brighter.
I had an ugly dream last night. I dreamt I was walking to a semi-lighted room. I heard a rustling noise, as if someone were hurriedly changing position, just as I walked through the doorway. I saw, God, V. half lying on a sofa, her dress torn wide open all the way down. Her beautiful swelling breasts were exposed and were heaving with passion. Even her __ was plainly visible. She was caressing it with her hands as though it had just been disturbed. She saw me no more than if I had been a piece of furniture. And beside her sat that damnably smug Leslie Devae.
He was hastily buttoning up his coat and glancing at V. with triumphant glittering eyes. When he saw who it was that had broken up his tete a tete he jumped up in fear and I knocked him down. It seemed to take an endless number of blows before I could finally believe that he was down. He seemed to sink a little with each blow; just as the nail sinks into wood when struck by the hammer.
I turned around to look at V. Her eyes were still passion filled but she seemed to recognize me. Then horror gradually drained that sexual passion from her eyes. She arose, breasts rising and falling as though under great physical strain, hair divided, her beautiful face distorted, she tried to say something - I awoke.
I can't get that damned dream out of my mind. I can see her yet, that passion in her eyes when I entered her room, passion for another, no notice of her "pal."
Last night we went to the Col. (?) and saw R. Dip (?) in S. B. and then to Seiferts. I could feel that melancholy stealing over me. I can't stop it. It may last an hour. It may last a week. I seem to see things in all their sorrow. The worlds seems but one big tear.
Even our love seems so sad. Its delusions, its terrible sacrifices, even its moments of bliss are tempered with the realization of the fact that they are only moments.
"Is my pal feeling sick?" Oh, if I could only tell her. But could I even if I wanted to. Could tell her just why the sorrow of the world seems to loom up so large.
"Is my pal feeling sick?" And what did I say? "Oh, no, I'm feeling fine. Then sinking still deeper into myself. I have decided to go over to V's tonight. My ill-humor has partially left me and I think it is safe for me to see her. I am going to apologize to Mr. S. for kidnapping V. Saturday night. Here's hoping it won't rile him up again. Fred is going along to see Alice maybe, and if he does I shall have to use a little ingenuity to see Mr. Scott alone. If I don't tell him "I am sorry" tonight well - then I guess I shall have to apologize to you diary and I hate like hell to be anyone's pardon. But it must be. On! On! To (?) and Virginia.
"In auction bridge hearts have precedence over diamonds - only in bridge y'understand!" An inexact quotation from the inaugural "Editorial Comments." Clever is it not.
I can't understand women. How can they peacefully with open hands receive all that a man places near them. Could I receive all that I have given V., though I will admit it hasn't been much, and still be perfectly willing to get and expect more.
No, damn it, no. She gives me love in return, isn't that enough say you. Mayhaps but everything I do for her is also given with all my love. Then if you begrudge that which you give her it can't be in love. Ha, I don't begrudge it, but I can't see how a woman or a girl can be perfectly willing to reach and reach out for more.
I often go without something to eat, which my mouth just waters for, so that I can take V. to the movies. I do it with all the joy that comes with self-sacrifice to make another happy. Isn't it true love. My life is hers if she wants it. Damn it that's love.
1:15A.M. Had a wonderful time at V's. We went up to the third floor and made candy and danced, having a wonderful time. Every time I see her love just wells up all over me and it seems as though the world were made for nothing but love. Oh - she's wonderful. My dream pal come true.
I apologized to Mr. Scott and told him that I was the responsible party on our Saturday night runaway. For the latter part he just wouldn't listen and to the first part I am uncertain whether or not it was accepted. He said that "What is past is gone and we shall not speak of the subject again."
New rules. Twelve o'clock is now curfew - absolutely - I asked Mrs. Scott if it couldn't be prolonged to 12:30 or 1:00 Sat's. She said she would see what she could do. That means O.K. Mrs. Scott is a woman in a (?). She is wonderful. No wonder I love Virginia so much - with a mother like that to train her. Well - I must get to bed.