Diary of a Provincial Lady

She is never alone when she has Her Books. Books, to her, are Friends. Give her Shakespeare or Jane Austen, Meredith or Hardy, and she is Lost - lost in a world of her own. She sleeps so little that most of her nights are spent reading.

Am struck by paradoxical thought that youth is by no means the happiest time of life, but that most of the rest of life is tinged by regret for its passing, and wonder what old age will feel like, in this respect. (Shall no doubt discover very shortly.)

Mucho antes de que estuviéramos a medio camino, y sabedora de que nunca llegaría a la roca, ya confiaba en que la segunda esposa de Robert fuera buena con los niños. La vizcondesa, que nadaba tranquilamente, me preguntó si estaba bien. "Oh, sí", contesté, y acto seguido me hundí. (Duda: ¿Castigo divino?)

(Query: Is it possible to cultivate the art of conversation when living in the country all the year round?)

This suggests Query: Does Robert, perhaps, take in what I say even when he makes no reply?

(Note: Extreme sensibility of the French sometimes makes them difficult to deal with.)