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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
60
October
24.
Une
Caractère
...
She
is
a
tiny
little
old
lady,
very
frail
and
very
delicate,
with
a
tiny
voice
like
the
noise
of
a
fretsaw.
She
talks
incessantly
about
things
which
do
not
interest
you,
until
your
face
gets
stiff
with
forcing
a
polite
smile,
and
your
voice
cracked
and
your
throat
dry
with
saying,
"Yes,"
and
"Really."
To-night
I
attend
the
Zoological
Society
to
read
my
first
paper,
so
I
am
really
in
a
fluster
and
want
to
be
quiet.
Therefore
to
prevent
her
from
talking
I
write
two
letters
which
I
represent
as
urgent.
At
6.15
desperate,
so
went
out
for
a
walk
in
the
dark
London
streets.
Returned
to
supper
and
to
Her.
After
the
wife,
the
husband
is
intellectual
pyrotechnics.
Referring
to
the
Museum,--
"Would
you
have
there,
I
suppose,
any
insects,
in
a
case
like,
what
you
might
say
to
study
to
yourself
when
no
one
is
by?"
he
inquired.
6.40.
It
is
now
one
hour
before
I
need
leave
for
the
meeting,
and
whether
I
sigh,
cough,
smoke,
or
read
the
paper,
she
goes
on.
She
even
refuses
to
allow
me
to
scan
the
lines
below
photos
in
the
Illustrated
London
News.
I
write
this
as
the
last
sole
resource
to
escape
her
devastating
prattle
and
the
ceaseless
hum
of
her
tiny
gnat-like
mind.
She
thinks
(because
I
told
her
so)
that
I
am
preparing
notes
for
the
evening
meeting.
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