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side of the tracks. My mother and my father came out of that and it was because of my mother's driving force that I seem to be out. In the struggle to lift herself she became almost an inhuman thing, and whatever neuroticism I posses I owe to her. Our childhood was all drive and no softness (something in a mental way like Wrights's) I know I shall bear the marks of it for always, but I never understood the effects of a drive up till I smashed against Motley and Algren They made me think the strange thing is I owe my education to that very material acquisitiveness of my mother. I don't know whose side of the tracks is mine.

   But I think I understand the why of things at last (at least, some things)  And this is the theme of the novel I am writing.  Whether it sells or not, the material is mine.

Best regards, Janice P.S. Forgive the longevity. I guess I kept thinking in ink.