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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
286
November
20.
In
the
doldrums.
Tired
of
this
damnable
far
niente,--I
am
being
gently
smothered
under
a
mountain
of
feathers.
I
should
like
to
engage
upon
some
cold,
hard,
glittering
intellectualism.
"I
want
to
read
Kant,"
I
said.
The
Baby
slept,
E----
was
sewing
and
N----
writing
letters.
I
leaned
back
in
my
armchair
beside
the
bookshelf
and
began
to
read
out
the
titles
of
my
books
in
a
loud
voice.
"My
dear!"
E----
said.
"I
am
caressing
my
past,"
I
answered.
"Wiedersheim's
Comparative
Anatomy
of
Vertebrates,
Smith
Woodward's
Vertebrate
Palæontology--why
it's
like
visiting
old
prospects
and
seeing
how
the
moss
has
grown
over
the
stones."
I
hummed
a
comic
song
and
then
said:
"As
I
can't
burn
the
house
down,
I
shall
go
to
bed."
N----:
"You
can
talk
if
you
like,
it
won't
interfere."
E----:
"He's
talking
to
his
besoms."
"Certainly,"
I
said
to
N----,
absent-mindedly.
E----:
"You
ought
to
have
said
'Thank
you.'"
I
blew
out
my
cheeks
and
E----
laughed.
N----:
"How
do
you
spell
'regimental'?"
I
told
her--wrongly,
and
E----
said
I
was
in
a
devilish
mood.
"If
we
say
that
we
have
no
sin"
I
chanted
in
reply,
"we
deceive
ourselves
and
the
truth
is
not
in
us."
I
next
gave
a
bit
out
of
a
speech
by
Disraeli
with
exaggerated
rhetorical
gestures.
E----
(with
pity):
"Poor
young
man."
Presently
she
came
over
and
in
a
tired
way
put
her
arms
around
my
neck
so
I
immediately
began
to
sing
"Rock
of
Ages,
cleft
for
me,"
in
the
bass,
which
immediately
reminded
me
of
dear
old
Dad,
whose
favourite
hymn
it
was....
Then
I
imitated
the
Baby.
And
then
to
bed
fretful
and
very
bitter.
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