I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time.

Of course I don't when John is here, or anybody else, but
when I am alone.

And I am alone a good deal just now. John is kept in town
very often by serious cases, and Jennie is good and lets me alone
when I want her to.

So I walk a little in the garden or down that lovely lane,
sit on the porch under the roses, and lie down up here a good
deal.

I'm getting really fond of the room in spite of the
wall-paper. Perhaps BECAUSE of the wall-paper.

It dwells in my mind so!

I lie here on this great immovable bed--it is nailed down, I
believe--and follow that pattern about by the hour. It is as
good as gymnastics, I assure you. I start, we'll say, at the
bottom, down in the corner over there where it has not been
touched, and I determine for the thousandth time that I WILL
follow that pointless pattern to some sort of a conclusion.

I know a little of the principle of design, and I know this
thing was not arranged on any laws of radiation, or alternation,
or repetition, or symmetry, or anything else that I ever heard
of.