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There is nothing I can say5, dear
Meta1. Several times in my life I
bitter losses, but never before have I felt heart-broken—felt that
things were done for me. Roscoe6 was
the only one of my family who felt about things as I did, and he was the
only one who saw, from the beginning, what I was trying to do. He was my
best critic, because he knew both ends of the process; knew the material,
and what I had been able to do with it, or had failed
to do with in the handling. He knew me better
than I knew myself. He knew all his family better than I did, but he was
more wise and charitable about ASTCICOU INN
MAINE them. The fact is that now I have no one to judge me, no one to tell me if I am off the true pitch—no other judgment that I care a bang about.
I got your telegram on the same afternoon that the typist brought me back the letter7 I had dictated to Roscoe in the morning. I am sending it to you.
At the same time the typist brought the typed copy of the new story8
he she had just finished. It was to go to
him by the next mail. It is about our childhood. I can't bear to look at it
When you can, please write me what you are going to do.
Don't act too quickly. Since he was ill9 you have lived so entirely for him - - - you won't know what you do want for awhile. Call on me for anything that I can do—for me it will be just as if I were doing it for Roscoe. If ever a man was one with his wife, he was.
I just can't bear it, dear, this using the past tense to write about him. I would have been with you this summer, or on the way to you, if Roscoe hadn't written me again and again not to try west-bound trains.
I shall never forget all you did for him.Lovingly Willie Willa Cather ASTICOU INN NORTHEAST HARBOR2 MAINE