23 June/6 July 1914

A thunderstorm broke this afternoon, and the sea was wild and churning. We stayed in the lounge, where Mama played the piano for us while spray lashed the windows. The music she always plays is sad, and when I begged her to play something cheerful, she just looked at me and said, “But, my darling, life is sad.”

I know that she was thinking of Father Grigory. We pray for him every morning, and at night, too.