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April 12, 1948

Dear folks,

I met Mrs. Weatherby in the street and told her I would be over an evening next week. [[strikethrough]] I [[/strikethrough]] My evenings next week are still confused; Thursday has found itself suddenly piled with [[strikethrough]] engagements [[/strikethrough]] Saturday -- I changed the date with my Hindu to then to remember afterwards that I have my free ticket to "Antony & Cleopatra" that night; now I have his [[strikethrough]] fone [[/strikethrough]] phone number, tho. He was wonderful to change it from Sat to [[strikethrough]] Fri [[/strikethrough]] to Thur; what now! And next week will be hellishly busy: preparing for orals in the Bible; for Shakespeare hour exam. This morning my tutor will help to direct my summer's reading. I must spend at least a month of close reading activity this summer. I mean that. It cannot be broken up by too much physical activity: which last year tired me out so I couldn't read very much if any. If ever I mean to exceed I must strike out alone & hard. I have had some technical training in criticism now, will put it to work with full force. Faculty tea with almost all English men present convinced me of that yesterday: I am cosmically ignorant.

John: he is solid, too solid. Has the Dexter virtues of a second generation man whose father has worked up money tho' denied career: very earnest student - job-tackler. He is out for security on all fronts: a stable job, wife, family. (We spoke of all indirectly, of course). [[strikethrough]] But...when [[/strikethrough]] He has balanced, happy outlook on life, & sense of humor. But...altho' early acquaintance makes shyness, I could still tell: our interests do not jive (football, bridge are [[strikethrough]] his pastimes [[/strikethrough]] liked by him, among what else?), there would always be great worlds of appreciations shut away from him; and he is not a fast or subtle thinker or [[strikethrough]] a [[/strikethrough]] sensitive [[strikethrough]] in [[/strikethrough]] to any [[strikethrough]] way [[/strikethrough]] appreciable degree. Dear John, I am spoiled by Mr. Darius, but it can't be helped. I feel almost as [[strikethrough]] to [[/strikethrough]] stumped as Louise now -- who is trying to write to her parents-in-law-to-be who don't wholeheartedly approve: [[strikethrough]] se[[/strikethrough]] promised I would write him "my thoughts" before I knew what they were going to be. [[strikethrough]] We [[/strikethrough]] He said we would make up our minds "on spur of moment", so I was led to the Athenian restaurant & "The Big Clock", a murder mystery, with "Mourning Becomes Electra" right beside it in another theatre (movie). Also, tho' he was here for weekend he didn't call Fri or propose anything Sunday: and not because he didn't like me. I fear he is terribly conventional. It's very easy to say such [[strikethrough]] mean [[/strikethrough]] things, not even understood by you, for I should have to go to pages to explain that [[arrow points to the word conventional]]. So he's good, but will have to [[strikethrough]] close John [[/strikethrough]] go. And, anyway, a Yale  man... (How [[strikethrough]] egocentric [[/strikethrough]] sure I am! of his love & affection; maybe I'd be a little