A grand, wet, gloomy, foggy day. I went out at 4.30 for a walk for an hour and a half, and it rained nearly all the time. But I was only a little damp under my waterproofs. As somebody once told me: "There is no such thing as bad weather, just inadequate clothing". It was dark when I re-entered the town from the Carrefour de l'Obelisque, and got from under the dripping trees. I was damp but I stood, chilling, to look at the bookshops. During this promenade I cleared my ideas considerably for the novel of which I still lack a title.This morning I received a copy of the third American edition (the first printed in America) of "The Old Wives' Tale". Very ugly, and they have had the damned cheek to put "A novel of life" on the title page.
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