I’ve tried to get on with our inquiries about love and babies, but I haven’t got much further. The other day I began edging round the conversation in that direction with old Simpson, and naturally that didn’t succeed. She shut me up when I was still miles off. Everyone always does – that is, everyone who knows. What can it mean. It is very odd. Why on earth should there be a secret about what happens when people have babies? I suppose it must be something appallingly shocking, but then, if it is, how can so many people bear to have them? Of course I’m quite sure it’s got something to do with those absurd little things that men have in statues hanging between their legs, and we haven’t. And I’m also sure it’s got something to do with the thing between our legs that I always call my Pussy. I believe that may be it’s real name, because once when I was at Oxford looking at the races with my cousin Tom, I heard quite a common woman say to another ‘There, Sarah, doesn’t make your pussy pout?’ And then I saw that one of the rowing men’s trousers were all split and those things were showing between his legs; it looked most extraordinary. I couldn’t quite see enough but the more I looked the more I felt-well, the more I felt my pussy pouting as the woman said. So now I call our’s pussies and theirs bow-wows, my theory is that people have children when their bow-wows and pussies pout at the same time. Do you think that’s it? Of course I can’t imagine how it can possibly work, and I daresay I’m altogether wrong and it’s really go something to do with W.C’s.
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