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Life has been rather a mess since I last wrote you; Pittsburgh4, Lake Erie5,
Virginia6. Winchester2 I find too, too dull. I can’t care anymore about the holy and sacred peculiarities of the people I knew when I was
little. Isabelle7 is with me. Tomorrow we
start on a driving trip through the North Mountains, and that will be better, except
for food - - - - I am sure that there are
is no remote province of Russia8 in which the food of commerce is
so abominable. And I won’t visit, not I! All the people I really loved here are
dead. I love the mountains still, but I have not the courage to bury myself in them
for very long. If one had a home
house here, then everything would be simple.
I wish I were going to Chocorua3, but I’m
afraid I’m not. A few weeks in Pittsburgh after this jaunt is over, and then Bank Street9 again. I’m impatient to lead
an industrious life once more. Vacations always tire one more than work,
REFURNISHED
REFITTED
RELANDLORDED
Ye Winchester Inn.
OPEN ALL OF THE YEAR
S.B. Perkins,
Proprietor
Winchester, Va...........,191... anyway. They
have enslaved us. I believe we really dread them at heart. You will have a more
satisfactory note from me when I’ve got away from the romantic “Southern” attitude,
and all the oppressively budding and lovely “gills”—the male of the species is
almost extinct hereabouts, and so so cowed and
house-broken that he can do nothing but carry wraps and dance and touch his hat. I
hope you are enjoying work as much as I’m bored with
loafing.
By the way, why did you never send the correspondence novel? Do send it to me in Pittsburgh—I’ll be back there in ten days.
Yours always Willa RETURN IN 5 DAYS TO