Sunday, May 25:
R. slept well. Our conversation is confined to the birthday, my picture, the Pilgrim, Michel, the Gedon folio, the surprise lists - all mentioned and discussed, with smiles and tears. Then R. reads the play and laughs at the way Wolz. has written in so many things of which he knows nothing; I have to laugh, too, but I recall gratefully how amiably the good man followed my instructions, accepting all suggestions and corrections.
R. spends almost the whole day in the garden in spite of some thundery rain: summer really arrived with his birthday! In the evening talk with friend Rubinstein. Pleasure at supper in being by ourselves again. R. says we belong together and only we - all else is a masquerade.