I am sitting in the room where they brought Marie.

It's strange to think of that, and when you're sitting with a candle in a dark room you can imagine anything.

It's odd in this affair how little things affect one.

There's a book here, a "Report on New Mexico." I looked at it idly the other day and now I'm for ever picking it up.

It always opens at the same page and I find myself thinking, speculating about it in a ridiculous manner.