[In the middle of the manuscript of Her First Ball.]

July 25. All this! All that I write—all that I am—is on the border of the sea. It's a kind of page 187 playing. I want to put all my force behind it, but somehow, I cannot!

Ful gay was al the ground, and queynt,
And poudred as men had it peynt
With many a fresh and sondry flour
That casten up ful good savour.