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I got back a few days ago and go down to Princeton4 tonight for another of those degrees5 you are always joking me about. (How avoid ‘em is the question? By sailing in May–but I can’t sail every year.) Your letter reached me last night and made me very happy. About this book6 I have no feeling at all–except the kind of gratitude you feel toward an old fur coat that has kept you warm through a long cold Atlantic7 crossing. It has been like a little tapestry tent that I could unfold in hotels and sanitariums and strange places and forget the bleakness about me. Quebec8 always gives me that sense of loyalty, of being faithful to something.
To recapture that feeling, and to get the sense of the North, was all I tried for. Every little detail of the way they lived is from some old book or letter. The search for all those little things helped me to hold my life together. How much it can mean to people who don’t know the history of the period at all, I don’t know. Jacques is the little nephew9 I love the best. I had him all that beautiful winter before Father10 died–he was only five (5) then. I stopped in Nebraska11 to see him for a day last week. He’s just the same–remembers everything we did together. “I guess I liked when you used to pull me up the hill on my sled the best of all,” he said softly. Such a faithful, loving little heart! Those late afternoon sled-rides were dear to me, too.
I’ll be here2 for about 12 days (business matters) then Grand Manan12!
Lovingly Willa