letters, manuscripts, note-books, paper-knives, pipes, matches, photographs, tobacco-jars, & ci For me, of course, nothing can ever be like it againin this world. His soul was born superhumanly sweet, and I do notthink anything can sour it. They did not remain there, however.
30 in the morning & I am writing because I can't sleep. He dwelt mainly on the old records of the trial which had been dugout and put into modern French by Quicherat; the 'Jeanne d'Arc' of J. This was on the train going down. I love to think aboutthose days; but there's always something sickening about the thought thatI hav
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