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right. But wrong in one way; as life is now, I have only brief moments, actually, with people--perhaps an hour a day, no, less than that, not counting meals, at which more polite than real talk occurs, with people. I get up at five-thirty and work alone until breakfast, then dash off to class after breakfast and am absorbed in work for the rest of the day-- except perhaps for a half hour of coffee in the living room after supper. Of course, you will say-, I have been going out allot lately, and taking in a surprising lot of intellectual and cultural nightings. That is true, but what is going out with a man that you don't particularly care for? Operas are fine, but I go to sleep like Dad. I don't go around with anyone especially, and have only a few moments in the haven of Jean's or Inc's and Louise's rooms. That is my fault for being inconsiderate and unsocial or rather unwilling to go out of my way, I guess, but it remains a fact. I want so much to broaden my horians in that respect. The other reason is Inc. She's going away this fall. She's one of the most genuinely human people I have ever met. You may react against some of her ideas and fearfully wonder if I will be contaminated by socialism and desire for social reform, etc, and I know you are not really [[strikethrough]] sympathet [[/strikethrough]] convinced of the efficacy of trying to improve the human race. But in Inc you'd find one specimen thoroughly convinced in human perfectability, and [[strikethrough]] unceasin [[/strikethrough]] undespairingly, frankly interested attaining it. It's inspirational. I wish that you would give me the responsibility to find out for myself and make decisions-- though I should probably make many foolish ones, didn't you learn that way? Did your mother want you to go to college, or rather, your father? Doesn't one, as Dolores was pointing out, develop a character by [[strikethrough]] forcing [[/strikethrough]] fighting, even if it necessitates fighting one's own parents? This reminds me of Jane Austen's earliest novel, written at the age of fifteen, "Love and Friendship", in which, mocking [[strikethrough]] hp [[/strikethrough]] her age and youth in general, I can quoat the following sentence from Whiting's witty lecture today: "Edward didn't want to marry Dorothea: she was a girl his father had approved of."

Well, I have said too much, probably. I don't want to do anything you set your hearts against. Please think it over carefully and I am waiting anxiously for a reply.

I will go out to Grandma this weekend, even if it is only for a few hours. 

Love,
Doris

P.S. Petersham is sixty miles from Boston, on top of a hill overlooking the Berkshires. I could get out to Stoughton on week ends now and then, certainly. Also, summerschool doesn't start for two weeks. My last exam is the 27th, and then I can come home directly.