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I always feel that you, more than any of my early friends, are interested in my doing what I set out to do. You like people to do things well, and so do I. I haven’t much patience with failures, especially little have I with the sentimental failures of my own profession.
I don’t think "Lucy"3 one of my best books (Myra Hess4, the Hambourgs5 and many other musicians think it the best, but I don’t), however, I value your esteem enough to want you to know that it kept its end up. The enclosed tables of comparative sales were sent me6 when I was abroad. For eight weeks “Lucy” headed7 the list of sales, and Anne Lindbergs8 book9 came next. Even so, things are bad in the book business and “Lucy” has not reached more than half of the first five months’ sales10 of “Shadows on the Rock.”11
The other side of the picture is that I am not in the best of health and have not been able to work any since I got home2: too long a strain on my nerves last spring and summer.
I wish I could go home12 for Christmas, dear Carrie. I mean to do so next year if it is humanly possible.
You might put these enclosures in an envelope some day and address it to Roscoe13 (1225 South Center St), he is the only one of the family who would be interested in these details.
A very loving heart to you, dear, and I shall think of you on Christmas eve—and many other evenings.Willie