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Well- now I want to tell you what it was I did before. You have to know that because I start my letter with that intimation. Here’s what I did. I wrote you a letter about the classroom scene. A very charming letter. You said so when you answered me. You also spoke about the attitude of certain readers - “like a bad smell, it only lingers in holes and sewers “. I showed your letter to the teacher. The handwriting annoyed her but the contents brought a smile. She liked it and said “That will be worth something some day. Hold on to it”. That’s what she said and I felt like taking a swing at her. You know why. But that has nothing to do with what I want to say. I was going to speak of something else. I don’t know how to start. It’s like going up to a stranger and asking for a loan. Or asking a lawyer’s advice over the phone. See, it’s this way. An encouraging remark in your letter (for which I thank you) plus the fact that Aristotle defines art as imitation, fanned in me a somewhat latent desire to write things. And its a funny thing how I acted. Sometimes I felt that all I could ever do was get a job. I still think that. But at times I get a strange feeling that I could write on miles of paper. I get these