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Feb. 16. 1904.

Dear Mother,

It seems to me that something is wrong with the mails. That you should have not received letters of mine without the delay of fourteen days. Perhaps my writing is not readable. I am not as you suggest discouraged or am I unwell. Neither am I sorry I settled here in London, and I am not going to leave until I make things move. I am made naturally unhappy at times at not being able to get work to do. Most of the friends of Mr. Ford whom he has introduced me to are all of the highly intelligent but struggling lot of professional people. Mr. Thompson is always busy when we make appointments with him, and I don't feel that there is any other way of hitting the rubber than by doing 

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