March 10
Work in the evening in our bedroom—two poor miserable bachelors—H⸺ reading Equity Law, a rug around his legs before an empty grate, while I am sitting at the table in topcoat, with collar up, and writing my magnum opus, which is to bring me fame, fortune and—E⸺!
H⸺ says that this morning I was putting on my shoes when he pointed out a large hole in the heel of my sock.
“Damn! I shall have to wear boots,” I said—at least he says I said it, and I am quite ready to believe him. Such unconsciousness of self is rare with me.