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A few days after I came out of the hospital3 my doctor shipped me off to this sanitorium4 between Reading5 and Harrisburg6. It's in the middle of the Powkino Hills—beautiful forest country just coming green, with all the fruit trees and dogwood and redbud in flower. The place is luxuriously comfortable and the food vile. That's the U.S.A.7 for you; I pay sixty dollars a week, and can have the use of a ballroom, billiard room and six sun-parlors, but I can't get one vegetable that is not canned, or one meat not cold stored. I really need food, as I lost fifteen pounds in the hospital. I had a rough time, lost a lot of blood and couldn't swallow anything but liquids for eight days.
I don't see how you ever managed, the very day before you sailed, to stop at a shop
and send me a rose bush with your own hand. It bloomed violently
GALEN HALL
"IN THE MOUNTAINS"
HOWARD M. WING, MANAGER
WERNERSVILLE, PA. for a week, and only
shattered on the very day I left the hospital. I was mightily pleased and touched
that you thought of me in the last rushing hours of departure.
I'm reading my page proofs8 out here—at least I work two hours a day on them. There are beautiful walks all about, but I'm limited to two miles a day. I do walk a little more than that, but I am rather spent afterward. I shall stay a week longer if I can endure the food. It's an awful good thing to get off alone with your book before other people get at it. One sees things very much more clearly when one gets away from the routine of one's home9. I begin to feel, as you did last winter, that I want to live in a hotel. I'd like to live in a hotel in high mountains, with just such a drench of light as there is here—the light seems to pour through one and almost takes the place of food.
What a glorious time you'll be having when you get this. You'll have no time for
reading letters. This is just to report that I am still about on this GALEN HALL
"IN THE
MOUNTAINS"
HOWARD M. WING, MANAGER
WERNERSVILLE, PA. planet, and to thank you
for the lovely rose tree that bore me company in very forlorn hours. How did poor
Ethel Barrymore10 ever bear it;—for
the one liquid I could not take was alcohol in any form—it tied my tongue in a
bow-knot and burned my my throat beyond endurance.
I wonder what kind of a crossing you had—probably a good one, for you are naturally relaxed in the region of your diaphragm. It's nervous people who suffer most. I'm never so well anywhere as at sea, and I think it's so with most pleasure-loving people, and with people who live with a loose diaphragm. Of course, any trouble-hunter like Olive11 will find it at sea!
Drink my health in France12, please, Zoë. The Hambourgs13 are in Italy14, or they'd be popping down on you for news of me. A thousand good wishes and a great deal of love to you from
Willa