And I let her--I wanted to feel her touch--I have never even shaken hands with her before. But when I felt her guiding me to the chair, the maddest desire to seize her came over me--to seize her in my arms to tear off those glasses, to kiss those beautiful blue eyes they hid--to hold her fragile scrap of a body tight against my breast, to tell her that I loved her--and wanted to hold her there, mine and no one else's in all the world----My God! what am I writing--I must crush this nonsense--I must be sane--. But--what an emotion! The strongest I have ever felt about a woman in my life--. When I was settled in the chair again--things seemed to become blank for a minute and then I heard Miss Sharp's voice with a tone--could it be of anxiety? in it? saying "Drink this brandy, please." She must have gone to the dining-room and fetched the decanter and glass from the case, and poured it out while I was not noticing events. I took it. Again I said--"I am awfully sorry I am such an ass." "If you are all right now--I ought to go back to my work," she remarked--. I nodded--and she went softly from the room. When I was alone, I used every bit of my will to calm myself--I analysed the situation. Miss Sharp loathes me--I cannot hold her by any means if she decides to go--. The only way I can keep her near me is by continuing to be the cool employer--And to do this I must see her as little as possible--because the profound disturbance she is able to cause in me, reacts upon my raw nerves--and with all the desire in the world to behave like a decent, indifferent man, the physical weakness won't let me do so, and I am so bound to make a consummate fool of myself. When I was in the trenches and the shells were coming, and it was beastly wet and verminy and uncomfortable, I never felt this feeble, horrible quivering--I know just what funk is--I felt it the day I did the thing they gave me the V.C. for. This is not exactly funk--I wish I knew what it was and could crush it out of myself--. Oh! if I could only fight again!--that was the best sensation in life--the zest--the zest!--What is it which prompts us to do decent actions? I cannot remember that I felt any exaltation specially--it just seemed part of the day's work--but how one slept! How one enjoyed any old thing--! Would it be better to end it all and go out quite? But where should I go?--the _me_ would not be dead.--I am beginning to believe in reincarnation. Such queer things happened among the fellows--I suppose I'd be born again as ugly of soul as I am now--I must send for some books upon the subject and read it up--perhaps that might give me serenity.