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"And I was crossed out: a little afraid of you for other reasons so that being tall and strong almost seemed like being aggressive."

  In any case I remember having supper

one evening with Katharine and her mother. After the meal Mrs. Butler handed her daughter a package of letters. "I've been cleaning out the desk in the yellow room, and I came on these letters. Will you look them over please, so that I can destroy them if there's nothing there of importance?" Among them was a small pink letter, crossed out: written matchless poetry in a child's handwriting: "Dear Warren, When shall we pick the roses? Your loving sister, Katharine"

  Perhaps a year later a Japanese painter

came to spend the summer in a dilapidated farmhouse several miles from town and hardly had people in Castine become accustomed to the idea of a Japanese citizen encamped on our eastern seaboard, when Toshiko left the farm