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[[preprinted]] Thursday, February 17, 1910 [[/preprinted]]

Got off those ten tons of Tabasco-on-the-husk today. Damned good riddance, that's wot I say.

Mombasa generally received a shock this morning when Mrs. Atkinson's sudden death was announced. Pure malaria. Yesterday afternoon she went up to 107, and though the doctors packed her in ice they could never get the temperature down. It was too bad. I always thought she was the nicest woman in Mombasa. You never saw any of the men dogging her about the way most of the women are followed. We need some more like her here.

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[[preprinted]] Friday, February 18, 1910 [[/preprinted]]

Today was the day for Jew stories. The Irish consul contributed one. The scene is laid in the ordinary Jew clothing store. After [[strikethrough]] [[?]] [[/strikethrough]] putting on the coat, which is stuck together with an especially virulent brand of dead-fish and decayed-horse glue, the customer sniffs it all over. Noting the look of disgust on his face, and [[strikethrough]] [[?]] [[/strikethrough]] fearful lest the sale should get away, the Jew says pleadingly,
"It isn't der coat vot stinks, Mister, - it's me."

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