P.M.

A dream. And a dream that amuses me in spots.

A large house. In one room, upstairs, my mother in bed, a man seated by the bed. She was young and did not resemble my mother as of to-day, yet she was my mother. She told me I would find a certain something in a certain room, do not know what; it was to be obtained by me because I was leaving the house. I went to that room, and in it I found a young woman in bed with a baby (woman resembled Mabel Normand). Some one else in the room, to my right, near a window. If I got anything I do not recall it now.

Preceding this I had been accepting the amorous embraces and ardent kisses of a man in a hallway. We stood by a doorway. He endeavored to break down what stood between us. I enjoyed all this.

^[1]

At some time I noticed I was clothed in a close-fitting, rich, heavy silk gown of a deep hue; mulberry, I think, or the deep violet shades of a canyon. I also wondered why one, say ten or twelve years younger than myself should be so desirous of me.

After leaving the last room, we met once more in a vestibule, where I gave a lingering hand-clasp, kissed his hand, and said: “I wish I were not a coward, and departed. As I left and crossed the street, I thought how theatrical my farewell, how insincere my words, for, from the start, I knew it was not my will.

11:30 All morning the personality of this man, whom I cannot recognize, has clung about me, I cannot shake it off. Rather slender of build, slightly taller and dark.

P.M.

7:00

Typing, Fives, a little reading.

I ask Russell [C. F. Russell] for a Tarot divination of my dream. Giovanni, this morning, brought a photograph of Jones. I receive a certain shock: the photograph suggests the man, but I cannot be sure.

Russell says he does not believe there is any connection between Jones and myself—the cards also say no. He further adds that he thinks there is a connection between himself and me. And proves it by the Tarot.

Reading in Equinox.