I have been through torture this week--The new man wrenches my shoulder
each day, it will become straight eventually, he says. They have tried
to fit the false leg also, so those two things are going on, but the
socket is not yet well enough for anything to be done to my left eye--so
that has defeated them. It will be months before any real improvement
takes place.

There are hundreds of others who are more maimed than I--in greater
pain--more disgusting--does it give them any comfort to tell the truth
to a journal?--or are they strong enough to keep it all locked up in
their hearts?--I used to care to read, all books bore me now--I cannot
take interest in any single thing, and above all, I loathe myself--My
soul is angry.

Nina came again, to luncheon this time. It was pouring with rain, an
odious day. She told me of her love affairs--as a sister might--Nina a
sister!

She can't make up her mind whether to take Jim Bruce or Rochester
Moreland, they are both Brigadiers now, Jim is a year younger than she
is.

"Rochester is really more my mate, Nicholas," she said, "but then there
are moments when I am with him when I am not sure if he would not bore
me eventually, and he has too much character for me to suppress--Jim
fascinates me, but I only hold him because he is not sure of me--If I
marry him he will be, and then I shall have to watch my looks, and
remember to play the game all the time, and it won't be restful--above
all, I want rest and security."