“11:10 P.M. October 15th, Sat nights bring thoughts of the morrow, or of what the week has been. Of what has been I do not wish to think, of what tomorrow holds I am only anxious to know. I want to go to Greenwood, only tomorrow will prove if I have gone. And why do I go? I cannot answer. Such greatness and wisdom as was hers, such an idiot am I. Slowly, yes ever so slowly, I am losing strength, both mentally and physically; it is only the torture of my fate, my just reward. Be it so. I am powerless to change it. Why must I try to control my fate? How silly man is much less than he tries to believe. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 11:20 P.M.”
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