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P.S. of course the foregoing is "under your hat."

unclear letter. B. Strange to say, Susy insists that her narrative was the truth, the whole truth, & nothing but the truth. She thinks I am blind as a mole to the beauties of this life, that I do not have the reverential spirit that enables one to catch a gleam of the light that shines over the altars of the temples. Perhaps I am too old, too set in my wys, too skeptical to feel the throb of the inspiration these fat corpulent gods, with bulging eyes & smirking faces, inspire in the souls of their postulants. Perhaps Susy sees deeper into the meaning of things than I do. But I wrap the mantle of my own conceit about me, I smile upon her in a unclear manner. I admire her enthusiasm; and now to you I will say: Good night.