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344 Commonwealth Ave., Boston,
March 16, 1930.

Dear Folks,

I as regularly break my promise to myself that I will write to you every week as I make it. I wish I liked to write, as Doris does. Then I might get [[strikethrough]] a [[/strikethrough]
letters off to you more frequently.

I think I wrote you that I was going to do some typing for Mrs. Andrew; but I have given it up, after several trials. The temperature of her house is 85-90 with no slightest degree of outside air allowed to penetrate the interior. I couldn't stand it; and she doesn't want her manuscript to go outside. I hope she accepts my no as final. Up to yesterday she hadn't. To-day, however, I have written her a letter in which I have tried to thank her for the opportunity at the same time I decline to accept it.

I am wondering how you have been. Did you get over your cold without much trouble. You usually claim that you get over them in about 3 days. I sincerely hope that you did, and that you have had no other, nor Mr. Holmes, either. How is Doris, the baby, and Sid? Are Doris and Sidney still planning to go abroad this summer?