present, I am trying to live more practically than I ever did.
Of the present situation, nothing can come—neither marriage nor anything else. So, as I reckon, it may last at the most one year more. I have to be prepared for that, and let the parting come by degrees and as easily as possible; so I am looking beforehand for some rock or other to which I may cling when wrecked. Now and then, when I think of my ideals once cherished in the past, the notion still comes to me (though rarely) of a love both deep and wise.
Better seek something far other than love—an "aim in life"—some idea—asceticism—even such as a nunnery can provide! "Dans la bête assouvie un ange se réveille!" Yes, but—is it "assouvie"? Well, I am rather tired, not only of love, but of the whole atmosphere I am living in.
In truth, disdain of all things is best of all. Yet again, disdain itself would be one of the things to be disdained!
I am curiously entangled at present, and can scarcely recognize myself as "Her of the Ice-Plains." In this continual struggle with myself, my strength has been exhausted.
