Sunday, March 21:
Still nothing from the children!
In the morning R. tells me he cannot imagine how we could once have thought we could contain our love within the rules of ordinary life. He works a bit, I embroider and play with the children.
Then Sunday lunch. Afterward a chapter of Otfried Müller on the Dorians, then a long, long sleep, for I am tired from worrying.
In the garden when already getting late; at about 6:30, after dusk had fallen and everything was very gray and silent, a little bird twittered above my head, and at once I was seized with hope; then a rook cawed, and I heard my little friend no more.
Richard is writing to the King. Yesterday R. said, when he saw my hair undone, that it was true Genevieve hair, and he added: God, if I could lead you like that into the wilderness! Only there are no more wildernesses; everywhere boardinghouses, the wilder the country, the more luxurious the boardinghouse.
In the evening continued reading Otfried Müller.