A fine letter

Tuesday, October 26th., Cadogan Square, London.

Went to Tchekoff's "Three Sisters" at the Barnes Theatre. Well, I was bored frequently. Did I enjoy myself? No, not on the whole. Was I uplifted as I had been by an even gloomier play "Rosmersholm"? No. It seemed to me that often the author was wilfully pessimistic. He is certainly very monotonous, and all his plays that I have seen have the same tone. A decent Philistine man seated just behind us was more satisfied - thought it improved as it went forward. On the whole Tchekoff had succeeded with him.

I was rather cross with myself this morning because (again) I caught myself trying to make Dorothy fit into my way of doing and seeing things. This is a fault with me which I have become increasingly aware of, and am trying to do something about. It is really about the exercise of power. I suppose it is human nature to want to assert oneself and thus maintain one's 'position' in the pecking order; or at least it is man's nature! Anyway it is not something I like about myself. By my time of life I should be secure enough to accept with equanimity  that others do things their own way, even though I think I know better.

When I got home I found a great letter from Wells about (1) "Raingo", (2) Dorothy, (3) my 'renewed' home, (4) my improved health. Incidentally H.G. attributes the latter to a more active sex life - he would! It was a fine letter.