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quite happy the first stage of the journey which is from Newport to Boston.  There was no drawing room car on the train, but it is almost more fun in the others as there are people of different kinds to watch.  But no one of an special interest was there, so I buried myself in the Woman in White, which is certainly not hard.  We reached Boston at about quarter to six & went directly to the other

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station, where we had to take an entirely different train for Bar Harbor.

The drive through Boston streets was not very interesting.  The side walks were crowded with men, old and young, ugly and handsome, hurrieng on, each occupied with some thought of his own, unmindful of the others.  I wondered what sort of a home they were all hurrieng to.  Some probably sad, perhaps where death has left its recent trace,
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