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[[preprinted]] Sunday, January 12, 1908 [[/preprinted]]

At last the mail wandered in so that we got it today. Four [[strikethrough]] [[of]] [[/strikethrough]]or five weeks running we didn't get it until Monday morning. Today she was due at eleven, but she didn't show up until two, but that was time to get it today. 

After the great event of the week being over, we relapsed into our usual hum-drum existence. Aden, whatever its faults, is restful. Its a good town for a broken down sport like myself to recuperate in. I haven't seen a bar since I left Paris.

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[[preprinted]] Monday, January 13, 1908 [[/preprinted]]

I like the letters from the sanctum sanctorum on Beaver Strasse nowadays. The old gentleman V. is nothing if not laconic. ^[["We ack. yours, etc.]] As Mr. Jones is with you now, we have nothing of interest to add." That doesn't call for a rush downstairs, a haul over old letters, adding up weights, or any of those nerve-racking stunts. 

A languid perusal, and another whisky soda, and the days' work is done.

It's as it should be.

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