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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
104
July
11.
Over
to
the
flat.
She
was
looking
beautiful
in
a
black
dress,
with
a
white
silk
blouse,
and
a
Byron
collar,
negligently
open
in
front
as
if
a
button
had
come
out.
She
said
I
varied:
sometimes
I
went
up
in
her
estimation,
sometimes
down;
once
I
went
down
very
low.
I
understood
her
to
say
I
was
now
UP!
Alleluia!
July
14.
...
It
would
take
too
long
and
I
am
too
tired
to
write
out
all
the
varying
phases
of
this
day's
life--all
its
impressions
and
petty
miseries
chasing
one
another
across
my
consciousness
or
leap-frogging
over
my
chest
like
gleeful
fiends.[1]
July
21.
Thoroughly
enjoyed
the
journey
up
to
town
this
morning.
I
secretly
gloated
over
the
fact
that
the
train
was
dashing
along
over
the
rails
to
London
bearing
me
and
all
the
rest
of
the
train's
company
upon
their
pursuits--wealth,
fame,
learning.
I
was
inebriated
with
the
speed,
ferocity,
and
dash
of
living....
If
the
train
had
charged
into
the
buffers
I
should
have
hung
my
head
out
of
the
window
and
cheered.
If
a
man
had
got
in
my
way,
I'd
have
knocked
him
down.
The
wheels
of
the
carriage
were
singing
a
lusty
song
in
which
I
joined.
July
30.
...
We
talked
of
men
and
women,
and
she
said
she
thought
men
were
neither
angels
nor
devils
but
just
men.
I
said
I
thought
women
were
either
angels
or
devils.
"I
am
afraid
to
ask
you
which
you
think
me."
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