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Thursday, April 9, 1908 
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I was down to Blunt's for the last time (knock wood) this morning. Poor old Doleshal was there, with a hole in his jawbone. By gum, he certainly has been getting the small end of things lately.
 
Went over to the Slipps for tea, and then we serwatted the nible gutta-percha globules for a mile or two over the back lots on the isthmus. Hell with golf. I'd like to have someone remove those swat-sticks that I purchased in dear old Lunnon, for a [[strikethrough]] f [[/strikethrough]] reasonable [[strikethrough]] [[?]] [[/strikethrough]] ^[[pecuniary]] consideration. I would gabool instanter. 

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Friday, April 10, 1908 
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"Nothing to do but work,
Nothing to eat but food,
Nothing to wear but clothes
To keep one from going nude."

If Ben King had lived in Aden he would have erased the "work", and [[strikethrough]] put [[/strikethrough]] writ in it's place, "[[strikethrough]] Nothing [[/strikethrough]] ^[[Nowhere]] to fall but asleep," or something in the same strain. 

Verily, life here is one grand sweet loaf.