Some shoe soles have been made for the children out of old pieces of rubber fire hose nailed onto the shoe. Another rubber sole was wired on.
The purple Jacaranda tree has two lovely blooms beside the guardhouse. Daphne brought practically no clothes when she was ordered from the Club. She has only slacks and a sweater, but whenever I watch her walk. I see her gowned all in black velvet, white neck and arms, red gold hair, head set regally as now, with that erect carriage sweeping into some British Colonial ballroom, to be in great demand, disdainful yet liking it.
People change when they change elements. We may like a steamer acquaintance, see him constantly, yet when New York or London is reached, each melts back into a former environment, seems another person, not so interesting often. Some people here who were enjoyable outside under pleasant conditions are not so interesting in this bedrock environment of camp and they will not seem so again outside perhaps. Is it fair to judge by these trying standards? Not many can take it well, this war of nerves. On the other hand, everyone is doing better than one might expect generally.
I never felt more like crying than when June bumped into my shoulder—breaking her glasses in a new place for the third time. She put them away, came back and wept in my lap. We hated the Japanese and wanted to go home. She must wear them for it is important.