As Frau Hoffmann so affectionately and tactlessly informed me, he's found a replacement for me. She's called the Valkyrie, and that's what she looks like, legs included. He likes vital statistics of this kind, but if she is really like that, he'll soon make her thin with worry unless, like Charly, the more troubles she has, the fatter she gets. Charly's problems only stimulate her appetite.
If Frau H's gossip is true. I think it's terrible that he should say nothing to me about it. After all, he should know me well enough to realize that I'd never put any obstacles in the way if he suddenly discovered his heart belonged to someone else. What happens to me is no concern of his.
I'm going to wait till June 3rd, when it will be three months since our last encounter. Then I'll ask for an explanation. Can anyone call that asking too much?
The weather's so wonderful, and I'm the mistress of the greatest man in Germany and in the world, but all I'm doing is sitting here and gazing at the sun through a window. How can he have so little compassion as to leave me here, bowing to strangers?
Man proposes, etc. And as you make your bed ... It's all my fault, but sometimes it's nice to put at least some of the blame on others. The long fast will end, and then everything will taste so much better.
It's a pity it had to be spring.