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36 Cabot Hall Radcliffe, Mass. May 14, 1947 Dear folks, "Frost" has the sound of cold lemonade today: delicious. I put on my suit and scorched in a different way. The square (of Radcliffe) is all lit up with apple & pear, tho I still can't smell it. Here's how things will go: Sat. 17th, English; 23rd, History; 26th, Bio; and, 27th, Music. Music. I can't hear, both ears stopped; but [[strikethrough]] it [[/strikethrough]] I'm not missing much: there is being played [[strikethrough]] an [[/strikethrough]] a modern atonal piece which is making everybody laugh (!?) and the [[strikethrough]] little [[/strikethrough]] brown & white spaniel who audits the cource under the piano has gone to sleep after failing to win more than 1 ice-cream cone from 4 attentive admirers. Poor Miss Atwood. I knew she looked thin and poorly, but what was the matter with her? Went to hear T.S. Eliot read yesterday afternoon. Tho' I couldn't hear half he said, I saw him: a small man looking very much like a clergyman (sounding somewhat, too). He had a straightforward way. [[strikethrough]] [[I must]] [[/strikethrough]] More later. Love, Doris