Now it is near ten, and the morning yet untried, unbroken. The feeling one must get up earlier and earlier to get ahead of the day, which by one o’clock is determined. Last night: finished “The Waves”, which disturbed, almost angered by the endless sun, waves, birds, and the strange uneveness of description – – – a heavy, ungainly ugly sentence next to a fluent, pure running one.
Syl finishes The Waves...
