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Edith3 and I were delighted to get your Christmas cards, and the sprig of sage-brush is still on my desk and still fragrant.
All last spring and part of the summer I spent in taking care of a very sick friend4 who lives in Paris5, but who came over to see American doctors. After she and her husband6 sailed, Edith and I got on the Rex and beat it for Italy7. I was pretty well worn out, as it was then the third of August and I had been here2 all through the heat. We had a perfectly happy summer (what was left of it) in the Dolomites and in Venice8. Nobody knew us, no mail was forwarded, we were as free as air. I began to enjoy life in a way I haven't for a long time. About the middle of September we separated, Edith went to visit friends near Bandol9 (the Brewsters10) and I went up to Paris to be near my sick friend. Edith joined me about a month later, and we got home just before Christmas after a frightful voyage. Edith was carried off the boat by the stewards of the Aquitania hospital staff. She was quite shaky for some time afterward, but since New Year's we have both been ever so well and have begun to catch up with life here again. One gets dreadfully behind in four or five months abroad. I have not yet got through with all the mountain of letters that accumulated in my absence.
Don't you love Anne Lindbergh11's book12? I took a degree along with him13 at Princeton just before that flight. She was with him, and I saw a good deal of them in the two days we were there. They were just exactly as they appear in the book.
Please write us a letter some time and tell us all about yourself and Tony14. We always love to hear from you.
Affectionately from us both, Willa