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April 20th, 1932.

My dear Louis:

Your most delightful and cheerful letter has just reached me this morning, on the verge of my dictating a few lines to you, informing you of my arrival in Europe.  I am leaving New York on April 30th, on the Ile de France, and shall be established in Paris on May 7th, presumably at the Poor House or something similar.

There are so many things I would like to tell you, but unfortunately my last few days here are so terribly rushed that I have to postpone a heart to heart talk until some later date, when I am looking forward to seeing you in Paris - either May or June.

It is most thoughtful of you to visualize me in our different palaces, and I advise you to keep your illusions, because if times keep on like this, it soon will be a thing of the past (oh yah, not if I can help it!).

I had luncheon the other day with Dr. Nef, whom I really think a most charming and delightful man, and whom I most likely shall see "en passage" through Paris.

Of course, there is not once Starr and I see each other when we don't talk about you and all the gay hours and invariable escapades we lived through (Lord only knows how sometimes).  There seems a vacuum in our bachelor life since your departure, the absence of a "fresh breeze", if not to say, a "whirlwind", and dust begins to settle in our

^[[GS]]