RECORD THIRTY-FIVE
IN A RING
A CARROT
A MURDER
I did not sleep all night. The whole night but one thought.... As a result of yesterday’s mishap my head is tightly bandaged,—it seems to me not a bandage but a ring, a pitiless ring of glass-iron, riveted about my head. And I am busy with the same thought, always the same thought in my riveted circle: to kill U-. To kill U- and then go to her and say: “Now do you believe?” What is most disquieting is that to kill is dirty, primitive. To break her head with something—the thought of it gives me a peculiar sensation of something disgustingly sweet in my mouth, and I am unable to swallow my saliva; I am always spitting into my handkerchief, yet my mouth feels dry.
I had in my closet a heavy piston-rod which cracked during the casting and whi
