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Thurs. 13. [13 April 1893] Shopped, went to see Mrs Macmillan about Tissus d'Orient. She had not read them yet but jawed a great deal on other matters, which was boring for I longed to hear her talk of me! Billy came to lunch, rather cross and said something that provoked me as we walked to the Grafton Gallery to a hot protest against his limitations. I was really rather angry, we talked the whole way up to Grafton St, I saying far more than I ought, but I don't think it really matters for whatever we say to one another can not alter our inmost feelings. He left me with a deprecatory smirk and I went in to examine impressionist pictures with Papa - a very interesting exhibition, some of it frightful some frankly childish (I thought) but all with a certain individuality which redeems[?] it. I like the honesty of it and though I think it goes too far, I fancy that may be necessary for the protest. Absinthe was there - oh hatefully and wickedly clever. We met Mr Goodenough whom I had not seen for five years - fat and in orders; he came to tea later on and so did Harold Russell who had just come back from the South of France. I wrote a line of apology to Bill - after all we had better be friends but how odd it is to realise that those fires are ashes now, no vestige of spark thank goodness! no excitement, no regret. All that remains is a memory of sadness that aches curiously at times, but which is far and far from demanding his presence. I felt it next day at Maurice's and was glad I had written, but we can never be any nearer, never, never. And how terrible it would have been to have awakened and found oneself tied to that. We dined with the N.Gs [Norman Grosvenor[?]] in their new house; very pleasant. Caroline told me of a story she is writing and I told her of my efforts. We enjoyed ourselves.