The Journal of a Disappointed Man

Had two glasses of port at the Kensington Hotel, conversed with the barmaid, and then came home. December 10. "Don't be an old fossil," she said to me to-night, irrelevantly. "A propos of what?" I inquired. "Mother, here's W---- proposing to E----! Do come," cried ----, with intent to confuse. I laughed heartlessly. Dear, dear, where will it all end? It's a sad business when you fall in love with a girl you don't like. December 26. Spent a romping day at the Flat. Kissed her sister twice under the mistletoe, and in the evening went to a cinema. After supper made a mock heroic speech and left hilarious. [1] "The life of the Soul is different; there is nothing more changing, more varied, more restless ... to describe the incidents of one hour would require an eternity."--Journal of Eugénie de Guérin. [2] See entry for November 27, 1915. 1914 February 4. ... Finally and in conclusion I have fallen ill again, have again resumed my periodical visits to the Doctor, and am swallowing his rat-poison in a blind faith as aforetime. In fact, I am in London, leading the same solitary life, seeing no one, talking to no one, and daily struggling with this demon of ill-health. Can no one exorcise him? The sight of both my eyes is affected now. Blindness? B---- continues whoring, drinking, sneering. R---- as usual, devoid of emotion, cold, passionless, Shavian, and self-absorbed, still titillates his mind with etching, sociology, music, etc., and I have at last ceased to bore him with what he probably calls the febrile utterances of an overwrought mind.