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It has been so long since I have written a letter because I wanted to that I scarcely know how to go about it. I've never even thanked you for your telegram last Christmas, or told you that the two winter months4 at home5 in the old house6, among the old neighbors were more perfect than things often are–they meant more than years and years of life in other places. This winter I've at last found and taken a quiet apartment, got my things out of storage, and I think I'm going to love it when the long grind of "settling" is over. Edith Lewis7 is with me, and I have the same french woman8 from the Basque country whom I had all through the war. When you are next in town2 won't you please make a date with me and come to see me–for tea if you can.
I want you to look in the February Atlantic9 for an account10 of a
delightful adventure which will mean more to you than to most people who read it.
I
couldn't tell all the story without saying too much about myself–but you already
know what I did not include. Wasn't it funny that it happened to me? I so well
remember when I began to read Flaubert11 in Red
Cloud, and when I drug through Salammbô12 and all the Letters13
with George Seibel14, the German proofreader in
Pittsburgh15.
⬩W⬩S⬩C⬩Do read the Letters16 to Caroline17 over again!
What a wonderful woman. For those few thrilling
days at Aix-les-Bains18 I had the whole group
of her time in my two hands–they were more real than
anything on earth to me. No work of art can recall and reproduce a period as a
living human be person can–if it's the right
person.
I'm as well as anybody could be who went through moving in the Christmas shopping season, with a Wyoming19 niece20 on my hands for her college vacation. I parked her at a dear little hotel, and greatly enjoyed the time I could spend with her. I got off all my Christmas boxes to my old women on the farms out west. For three of them, thank God, I have been able to save their farms by paying their interest. Almost nothing ever gave me such pleasure as being able to help them keep their land–the land they've worked on since I was ten years old!
Now I've got to go to a business meeting, but I've had half an hour with you, anyway. I'm so glad you liked Mrs. Harris21. I fussed with it a little, but I got very nearly the tone I was trying for.
With love always, even if I write so seldom. Willa