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Erie, Pa. Sunday, Nov. 6, '38. Scarcely know where the day went except that I spent the morning cleaning out the children's room after I could stand the frightful confusion in there no longer. It resembled a second hand store crossed with an out and out junk dealer's establishment. This afternoon, Rog and I went "esploring" while the ladies rested. Bab was still bedridden but much improved. Rog is a good little companion - interested in everything and a voluable talker. When we returned home, I was looking through some things in my Journal pocket and found the two letters I still have from Doris, written after we were married, the last one in 1932. Reading them made me very thoughtful and very regretful that I never saw Doris again, never will see her again. I wish I could believe that in that "next world" I should be able to see the people who have gone but somehow I no longer have any faith in there being a "next world". I hope there is, but I can't believe there is. And so to me, Doris is gone, gone for all eternity. And yet, I felt very close to her somehow as I held those letters, realized her plump, pretty hands had held that same paper, written those words, her eyes read them, maybe re-read them wondering what effect they might have on me. My memories of her always bring regret - not that I'm unhappy now, but always wondering what Doris' life might have been if on that fateful night long ago, I had acted differently, been less "honest" with myself and with her. Might she not be here now - alive and happy? The tragedy of Doris's life I feel hanging rather heavy on my shoulders when I look back and realize how I wrenched it so badly she had to practically remake her whole outlook. And back give years or more ago,