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April 2, 1917. My Dear Edith: You have sent me a most delightful book. I have read it half through this afternoon and shouted over its wit and patted myself in a flattering way over its wisdom - which being your gentle reader, you assume I share. It is a most lovely and companionable work. I have read all about Shelley and about realism and the unclear, and several other pieces. I think you and I could spend all our days talking to each other if we did not imagine something else required our valuable attention. Your book brought back our little talk on the Lake Front together - when I routed you out last summer. Octavia Roberts unclear name - Hotel Buckminster Boston - when I call on her and Mr. same name one evening this spring - spoke of you with the most earnest admiration and was most anxious to be remembered to you. You were one of her idols - when she felt herself careening along, some day to attain your sure peace - but I do not think she is writing much now - her ambition is more divided I fancy - at any rate she seemed to class me as a friend at court - and