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Louvre yesterday afternoon by my self and [["clustered'?]] among the drawings of the old masters in the Salle des dessins, there is a little room that is only open for two hours on Saturdays. The frames have doors which they shut them up in the rest of the time for fear of their fading so precious are they. A good many of them are Raphaels. And I'm going to take a sketch book up there next time and copy some of them. Nothing could be more 'simple or more sufficient". I would far rather see his drawing for pictures than the pictures themselves as they are in the Louvre. I spent all of Friday afternoon there with Aunt Sarah. The people 
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Sunday afternoon—
March. 18—
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My sister.  At 4.30 P.M. May and I have settled down, after some trials in our room. A snowy horrid day. We came home at 3. And found our room just as we left it; fire out and beds unmade chill as a cellar. Made a fuss over at N°12, Rue Boccador   And after much French chatter we were attended to. "Josef drinks' This is the secret. He is our chamber maid. We met the Austins at the French church at 12. I love the French service and preaching but it was so cold and damp there today that I am almost afraid to go again. Then May and I took our 
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Transcription Notes:
Note: Quotation marks were inconsistent, and I transcribed them as they appeared in the text.

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