April. Tyranny of objects. There is a point beyond which the apparent antagonism of certain chairs, or paper-weights, if dwelt on, ceases to be ludicrous. As though they might crush or crowd out. This may also be true of human beings. I find myself assuming hostility in, for instance, Miss Barton, because of the configuration of her upper lip – somewhat swollen – taken in conjunction with the dark hairs at her mouth corners. Now, it is not these physical facts which menace, clearly – they must be simply a focus for my resentment of hostility that I assume is in her. There is, of course, real hostility. Yesterday she found it necessary to suggest that I had been too severe in refusing a reference to Gillian Sachur. A foolish girl. I had thought my decision out with care. She has a right to her view. But she expressed it with hostility, and concentrated her grim look on my hands in an obsessive way I could not like. I must nevertheless keep in mind a distinction between Miss Barton, and chairs, or paper-weights.
