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4 lives must be spent in this kind of going back and forth.

 We gather what we can and retire with it, try to let it do something inside of us, to us,

like keck, having become in percynated.

 Of course it is terribly confusing working, as we writers must, in lives?.  But after all

not more surprising than your difficulties. I understand that.

 I think the gods are there but they are far off just now.
 The thing about which you spoke was sold to Scribners, I'll send it when printed.
   Last week I did a short thing for Vanity Fair, almost devoid of color, almost pure drawing. 

I called it These Mountains, just a description of your people, all my own feeling aftart. I think it was good.

  Love to All
   Sherwood