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[[preprinted]]Saturday, October 9, 1909[[/preprinted]]

Business is rotten. This bazaar is ^[[in]] it's usual state. With over trading and reckless credit we're just about due for the periodical crash. I'm damned glad we've got none of our goods out at three to six months, – which means six to a year – we'll stick to the old policy of sitting on 'em until the cash turns up, and I guess we won't be the losers for it, neither.

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[[preprinted]]Sunday, October 10, 1909[[/preprinted]]

Worsley and I went up to Mazeras today. We walked around in the sun at that experimental farm joint, – something I shouldn't have done, for I wasn't feeling tip top. I forgot to close that particular shutter when I went to bed last night, and the sun struck me as it came up this morning. As a result I wasn't feeling extry fine when I turned in tonight. He was a good man. Relatives and friends invited. No flowers.