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Saturday, April 11, 1908 
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The same old thing today. It do beat hell how we gad about in this burg. 

I had Smith on the hip last night.  I was talking a rosy Germany to him, blowing sixty miles an hour, and he was vexed.  The English do dote on the Germans, that's one dead sure bet. 

Cheer up, Smith, Neddie is Choiman hisself. 

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Sunday, April 12, 1908
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I played five sets tonight, and at that, I don't get enough exercise.  I must get up tomorrow morning before breakfast and hike over Marshag.

Blunt and Brenchly were over for dinner tonight.  They certainly are petite, the two of 'em.  Blunt I guess tips the beam at about 200, and Brenchley, - well, 240 would be conservative for him.  I should hate to have them walk on my corns.