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I don't want you to think me a fickle, changeable sort of person. A number of dreary things have interrupted my correspondence. The whole Christmas Season was rather dreary for me. I wasn't very well and I had a shower of letters from every one I have ever known in this country3 and in England4. I wasn't able to grapple with them. Our5 part-time maid, first, was ill, and on New Year's Eve her husband died of angina. Then no maid at all for a week. All this happened when I was trying to get ready to go into the Roosevelt Hospital for what threatened to be a rather serious operation6, so that I was anxious and nervous. I didn't send for Miss Bloom7 to help me out with my correspondence because she herself was ill. Some of the letters from England I absolutely had to answer; also a few business letters which called for a prompt reply. Consequently, I drove my right hand8 past its limit and for the last two weeks it has been in the brace9 which I wore when I went to San Francisco10 to see you and Roscoe11 – and fairly painful it is to boot.
The two eminent surgeons12 who have watched me pretty carefully have now assured me that I will not have to go into the hospital for an operation; and that is a great load off my mind. It isn't so much that I am afraid of surgery, but I am afraid of the complete interruption of one's activities and the dreariness of long convalescence.
Now Meta, I am at last sending you the long letter from Roscoe13 which has lain for weeks on my desk. It is a very precious letter to me and I am sending it by registered mail. And whenever you send it back to me, I know you will send it in the same way.Affectionately, WILLA CATHER
The long letter which Miss Cather refers to will be forwarded in a separate envelope, by registered mail, tomorrow.S.J. Bloom