"It was my business as to whether I worked or did not work for a

week--therefore you are owed payment in any case--that is logic----."

A queer red came into her transparent skin, her mouth shut firmly--I

knew that I had convinced her, and that yet for some reason she hated

having to take the money.

She did not even answer, just bowed with that strange aloofness that is

not insolent. Her manner is never like a person of the lower classes,

trying to show she thinks she is an equal. It has exactly the right

note--perfectly respectful as one who is employed, but with the serene

unselfconsciousness that only breeding gives. Shades of manner are very

interesting to watch. Somehow I know that Miss Sharp, in her washed

cotton, with her red little hands, is a lady.

I have not seen my dear Duchesse lately--she has been down to one of her

country places--where she sends her convalescents, but she is returning

soon. She gives me pleasure--.

* * * * *

August 30th--The interest in the book has flagged lately--I could not

think of a thing, so I proposed to Miss Sharp to have a holiday. She

accepted the fortnight without enthusiasm. Now she is back and we have

begun again--Still I have no flair--Why do I stick to it?--Just

because I have said to the Duchesse that I will finish it?----I

have an uneasy feeling that I do not want to probe my real reason--I

would like to lie even to this Journal. Lots of fellows have been upon

the five days' leave lately, things are going better--they jolly one,

and I like to see them, but after they go I feel more of a rotten beast

than ever. The only times I forget are when Maurice brings the fluffies

to dine with me--when they rush up to Paris from Deauville. We drink

champagne--(they love to know how much it costs) and I feel gay as a

boy--and then in the night I have once or twice reached out for my

revolver. They have all gone back to Deauville now.

Perhaps it is Miss Sharp who irritates me with her eternal

diligence--What is her life--who are her family? I would like to know

but I will not ask--I sit and think and think what to write about in my

book. I have almost come to the end of grinding out facts about Walnut

and ball fringe--and she sits taking it all down in short-hand, never

raising her head, day after day--.

Her hair is pretty--that silky sort of nut brown with an incipient wave

in it--her head is set on most gracefully, I must admit, and the

complexion is very pale and transparent--But what a firm mouth!--Not

cold though--only firm. I have never seen her smile. The hands are well

shaped really--awfully well shaped, if one watches them--How long would

it take to get them white again I wonder? She has got good feet, too,

thin like the hands--. How worn her clothes look--does she never have a

new dress--?




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