Sept. 28 
Do let me tell you how sad I was to hear about your mother. It must have been terrible for you, when everything else in the world is wrong at the same time. Did she keep on writing that pleasant poetry of hers right through? A life-saver it was, for her, I should think.
Oh, I do crave so to hear some good news from you! Of course, it is good that you have been able to stand up so well under these catapultations, and keep on composing wholesome young men and healthy-minded virgins. It seems nothing short of miraculous. I think you’re a grand scout, and I’m behind you somewhere in the east, with all my strength.
Your husband’s words about Gabriel and the empty belt were glorious, even in their sadness. I love people like him and you. “Like,” I say. Well, there aren’t any, that’s about the size of it. But I love him and you.
Do give Phoebe and E. my love, too. I feel much for the trapped nymph. Being trapped by life, in her case school, is not good for one’s wings. I admire her. As for E., may what gods there be lend aid.
I should treasure a few lines from you sometime when you feel me-ish. But don’t hurry. I do understand.