Tuesday, March 4:
R. had a good night; he works in ink, in order, as he says, “to give you an audition soon.” At lunch, however, he feels worn out, but he goes for a long walk; I go to meet him, and we watch the most magnificent sunset. R. called out to me, “I arranged that for you.” “A while ago the orb was there, now the hero is shedding his blood.”
We play whist in the evening; R. seems to be looking rather tired, and consequently I suggest the game, which seems the right thing for him.