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5515 Hobart St., Pittsburgh, Pa., Nov. 29, 1927 Dear Sherwood, Your letter just came. I have been going to write you all fall, but I have a curious habit about you. I talk to you all the time. We have glorious talks. When I am sad, you help me. Sometimes are are sad - & unapproachable. But once I said things that helped you. That was better. A letter seems an irrelevance, like writing to some one I see every day. I was re-reading parts of Tar only the other day. Tender, beautiful pages - life itself. I used to carry papers, too, see things, & wonder, talk dirty talk in the alley when I waited for the papers, get clean with tramping miles. It was all there & more. The Notebook, Ruth & I have read together. We know much of it. I couldn't write you that I was using your name about the Guggenheim thing. You had said too much about leisure. The leisure of it I should dread. The break with schools might help. An Englishman, Robert Nichols, started it. He picked up Arlie in Los Angeles,