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Dear Sherwood - There must be some connection between you and writing - my writing, I mean, because here I am at my book again and also thinking of you and writing to you. Since December I've been buried under papers, exams, etc., and had to go to Chicago Jan 8 for the funeral of our relative and to Philadelphia Jan 28 for the funeral of another. Only yesterday did I get to work again. When in Philadelphia I went on to N.Y. for two days, never having been there. Saw the Viking people, and rather liked them, though I have some doubts. They took some pains to make it clear that Ben unclear is no longer on the business ends of things. Oppenheimer may be through here toward the end of the month. My book now has 243 pages and I hope to be at it regularly from now on. But I have so many things to get into it I may get nothing in. Ruth's faith continues, though, and I acquire more as I work. Parts of it seem excellent to my infatuated eye.