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very thin chicken and potatoes out of the washer onto the platter which was also on the floor, among the dust and spiders and May's horror when she discovered that the chicken's head was on - but it tasted just as good and we ate up every scrap.

The other morning I went to market with Mrs C. and when I asked the butcher (who is a stout young man with a sweet little wife who looks like Phoebe Howell -) Whether the bifteck he was in the act of cutting was 'tendre' - he paused - raised the collected ends of his greasy fingers to his lips - kissed them with a most emprissé, and juicy smack, and ejaculated, "Madmoiselle, d'une tendresse!!" He was not in the least 'sassy' - but Mrs C and I nearly lost our equilibrium.

Later - I have got Ellen's and Harry's letter. The dear boy - he must  - keep on writing his