"I
beleive you are feverish."
"Not feverish, but in trouble," I explained. And so I told
him the story, not saying much of my deep Passion for Adrian,
but merely that I had formed an atachment for him which would
persist during Life. Although I had never yet exchanged a word
with him.
Father listened and said it was indeed a sad story, and
that he knew my deep nature, and that I would be true to the
End. But he refused to give me any money, except enough to pay
back Hannah and Carter Brooks, saying:
"Your mother does not wish you to go to the Theater again,
and who are we to go against her wishes? And anyhow, maybe if
you met this fellow and talked to him, you would find him a
disapointment. Many a pretty girl I have seen in my time, who
didn't pan out acording to specifications when I finaly met
her."
At this revalation of my beloved father's true self, I was
almost stuned. It is evadent that I do not inherit my being true
as steal from him. Nor from my mother, who is like steal in
hardness but not in being true to anything but Social Position.
As I record this awfull day, dear Dairy, there comes again
into my mind the thought that _I do not belong here_.
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