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Rh it's no good on earth, and when a loving author realizes that, what would be the judgment of a critical public?

Later.

I address you, Daddy, from a bed of pain. For two days I've been laid up with swollen tonsils; I can just swallow hot milk, and that is all. "What were your parents thinking of not to have those tonsils out when you were a baby?" the doctor wished to know. I'm sure I haven't an idea, but I doubt if they were thinking much about me.

Yours,

J. A.

Next morning.

I just read this over before sealing it. I don't know why I cast such a misty atmosphere over life. I hasten to assure you that I am young and happy and exuberant;