Monday, September 1, 1902

Today I woke from a dreadful nightmare that it was the first day of school, only to discover that it was the first day of school. Sordid coincidence!

Since the wretched Mrs. Halloran filthied the old diary with her slimy sheep's gaze, leaving me no choice but to consign it to the flames, I have resolved to keep this one safely under lock and key. When Father gave me money for a new hat, I simply bought this hideous deposit-box instead, and he can writhe in inchoate confusion all he likes when I meet him next weekend in last year's. I am quite pleased with the box. It's roomy enough to keep all my writings in together, and with such a grim banker's exterior not even such a grim banker as old Halloran would suspect it chock-full of that dimly repulsive wonder, The Soul of a Young Girl. Of course someone may try to snatch it expecting jewels and stock-options, but they shall just have to live with disappointment, as I with the risk of burglary. The risk of Hallorantamination is far more fearsome, don't you think?

Must breakfast and dash to school. Tom hasn't said word one to me since he got back from Paris. Aunt Dan claims fatigue, but I suspect he's holed up in his room with the blinds shut in a desperate bid to pretend he's not back in Canada. That's what I should be doing in his place, anyway-- that is, if I didn't have the good sense to stay abroad, Shrewsbury High School be damned.