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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
339
Later.
(In
E.'s
handwriting.)
Yesterday
we
shifted
into
a
tiny
cottage
at
half
the
rental
of
the
other
one,
and
situated
about
two
miles
further
out
from
the
village....
A
wholly
ideal
and
beautiful
little
cottage
you
may
say.
But
a
"camouflaged"
cottage.
For
in
spite
of
the
happiness
of
its
exterior
it
contains
just
now
two
of
the
most
dejected
mortals
even
in
this
present
sorrow-laden
world.
September
30.
Last
night,
E----
sitting
on
the
bed
by
me,
burst
into
tears.
It
was
my
fault.
"I
can
stand
a
good
deal
but
there
must
come
a
breaking
point."
Poor,
poor
girl,
my
heart
aches
for
you.
I
wept
too,
and
it
relieved
us
to
cry.
We
blew
our
noses.
"People
who
cry
in
novels,"
E----
observed
with
detachment,
"never
blow
their
noses.
They
just
weep."
...
But
the
thunder
clouds
soon
come
up
again.
October
1.
The
immediate
future
horrifies
me.
October
2.
Poushkin
(as
we
have
named
the
cat)
is
coiled
up
on
my
bed,
purring
and
quite
happy.
It
does
me
good
to
see
him.
But
consider:
A
paralytic,
a
screaming
infant,
two
women,
a
cat
and
a
canary,
shut
up
in
a
tiny
cottage
with
no
money,
the
war
still
on,
and
food
always
scarcer
day
by
day.
"Give
us
this
day,
our
daily
bread."
I
want
to
be
loved--above
all,
I
want
to
love.
My
great
danger
is
lest
I
grow
maudlin
and
say
petulantly,
"Nobody
loves
me,
nobody
cares."
I
must
have
more
courage
and
more
confidence
in
other
people's
good-nature.
Then
I
can
love
more
freely.
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