Monday 24 March
She had a (face) nose like the Duke of Wellington & great horse teeth & cold prominent eyes. When we came in she was sitting perched on a 3 cornered chair with knitting in her hands. An arrow fastened her collar. And before 5 minutes had passed she had told us that two of her sons had been killed in the war. This, one felt, was to her credit. She taught dressmaking. Everything in the room was red brown & glossy. Sitting there I tried to coin a few compliments. But they perished in the icy sea between us. And then there was nothing.
A curious sea side feeling in the air today. It reminds me of lodgings on a parade at Easter. Everyone leaning against the wind, nipped & silenced. All pulp removed.
This windy corner. And Nessa is at Brighton, & I am imagining how it wd be if we could infuse souls.
Octavia's story. Could I englobe it somehow? English youth in 1900.
Two long letters from Shena & 0. I cant tackle them, yet enjoy having them.
L is doing the rhododendrons...
Dit is het laatste wat de Britse schrijfster Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) in haar dagboek schreef. Vier dagen later pleegde ze zelfmoord door zich te verdrinken in een rivier.