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Sunday, January 26, 1908
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Retribution and remorse again overtook me this morning. I woke up with all the old familiar symptoms, and immediately came to the conclusion that the sun must have been exceedingly hot last night. I [[underline]]knew[[/underline]] I'd have trouble with this climate before I got through. 

I finally did get out of my pajamas and into my regular rags about four in the afternoon, but it was only to flop into a chair alongside the tennis court, and reflect how I was all ^[[health]], strength ^[[happiness]] and activity but yester-afternoon.  How quick the transition from life to death! It's the climate.

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Monday, January 27. 1908
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I really surprised myself today. by recovering ^[[sufficiently]] from the effects of the climate to play a couple of sets. Maybe I'm not going to die, after all, though I was sure of it yesterday morning. Never again! The old slogan still rings true. 

That reminds me once more of Cassius Edwin Foy's trite little phrase, - you'll recognize it as the immortal Bill's: ----

"Oh, that a man should put an enemy into his mouth to breed rats in his garret!"