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[[pre-printed]] 4 [[/pre-printed]] airs where he came to me and made me feel at ease. Oh its serious business this bending of one's ego, and the only hope for any other than harmful results are that being crushed I still love life, and that can not leave me but when [[strikethrough]] it is [[/strikethrough]] I am wounded too much there will always (god grant) be a time of release and springing up I shall go a bit higher. GDE did this one thing for me. He took my thoughts from Jan. Jan, and my bitterness that one who had loved me should fall in love with 'the cold clarity of ideas'. I had only contempt for him but it was so great that I often felt such a hate for him that it was much akin to love. He may sleep in peace- and he may read my letters again when he is tired of his 'cold clarity of ideas'. GDE with his slender fingers on his face in the manner of Lorenzo de Medici, and the same remote unimpassioned stare. A little boy slim and tall with scooped out cheeks and a big black hat - too big - and a belted overcoat. He's like an equilateral triangle. I have never seen anyone take more delight in his writing of sarcastic articles than he has. He reads them to me in the same way he tells about dropping bags filled with water from the sixth story of the Detroit News building [[strikethrough]] a [[/strikethrough]] perhaps he'll grow out of it, but what a sad day for him when he does. If he can't be a disturbing factor - whether [[end page]] [[start page]] [[pre-printed]] 5 [[/pre-printed]] it is only an imp or a 'voice of outraged beauty' he will have to be uninteresting. He has little of the fineness that characterizes John. John I doubt ever cried out in sarcasim Of pain at the penguins around him, and can only feel pity for one who 'would like to have a page in the Saturday Evening Post to [[strikethrough]] wake the [[/strikethrough]] watch the people gasp! Still looking for something to stand on, GDE pushed me off the raft that I was rather firmly planted on that most everyone I have ever really known has made me feel pretty secure on. Condemnation of sorts, that is. I choose my friends from those who will flatter - from those who tell me I have much to give because I am - oh well - I'm keeping a journal again that I may someday read it again and my imagination will be in flamed with memories. That I may remember things I might have forgotten to wit, that I may find regret, [[strikethrough]] that [[/strikethrough]] sine qua non [[strikethrough]] Of [[/strikethrough]] life is dull. Or, it is to amuse myself - for I remember too well any way; I shall never forget the silence in conversations with GDE that fill me with terror. - that feeling of alone ness that he makes me feel so sharply.
- page 2-3 missing! - "GDE" probably Geoffrey D. Eaton - "forgotten to wit" = forgotten to make witty? watch for "p" that is almost always written similarly to a "b." - GDE source: https://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/esther-mccoy-papers-5502/subseries-2-2/box-2-folder-32