This is foolish, because to do that would be to kill each other,
and that would introduce what, as I understand, is called "death";
and death, as I have been told, has not yet entered the Park.
Which is a pity, on some accounts.
SUNDAY.--Pulled through.
MONDAY.--I believe I see what the week is for: it is to give time
to rest up from the weariness of Sunday. It seems a good idea.
. . . She has been climbing that tree again. Clodded her out of it.
She said nobody was looking. Seems to consider that a sufficient
justification for chancing any dangerous thing. Told her that.
The word justification moved her admiration--and envy, too, I thought.
It is a good word.
TUESDAY.--She told me she was made out of a rib taken from my body.
This is at least doubtful, if not more than that. I have not
missed any rib. . . . She is in much trouble about the buzzard;
says grass does not agree with it; is afraid she can't raise it;
thinks it was intended to live on decayed flesh. The buzzard must
get along the best it can with what is provided. We cannot overturn
the whole scheme to accommodate the buzzard.
SATURDAY.--She fell in the pond yesterday when she was looking at
herself in it, which she is always doing. She nearly strangled,
and said it was most uncomfortable. This made her sorry for the
creatures which live in there, which she calls fish, for she continues
to fasten names on to things that don't need them and don't come
when they are called by them, which is a matter of no consequence
to her, she is such a numbskull, anyway; so she got a lot of them out
and brought them in last night and put them in my bed to keep warm,
but I have noticed them now and then all day and I don't see that
they are any happier there then they were before, only quieter.
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