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You probably think that I am making snowballs in the daytime and skating on the pond
in the Common at night, but I am not. I am simply so busy that I haven't time to
write you what I have been doing. Next week, however, I shall write you a long
letter in my own fair script and tell you what has come my way. I am trying to make
my notes in such clear
queer(!) and useable form that, if they prove to be of any
value, we will have no trouble in fitting them in with your copy. I really think
that we are getting material which will tremendously strengthen the narrative4--though of course when one gets things
down they don't always look so alluring or seem so important as they did when they
were dancing in the air. I have lots of fun joking Mrs.
Wells5. People don't want to see me; they scorn me, they want the real
thing; they want to speak with the boss6; they
want the lost Lenore7. But they don't mind me; they
are perfectly willing that I should breathe and are very nice about it, and
will talk before me just as if I were a fly on the wall or a baby in a perambulator.
I am beginning to lay hands on the Treasure of the
Humble8, and notice
I note an expression of sweet humility
dawning on my countenance.
Next week I will try to let you know the facts we have gathered. Until then, all luck to you and please wish a little bit for me.
Faithfully always, Willa S. Cather