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Dear Jack:

I have refrained from writing to you because I know so little of what has happened and I was hoping things would right themselves. All I know is that there must have been a horrible row between you two in which both of you doubtless said things you never [[strikethrough]] thought [[/strikethrough]] dreamt of saying before. I know, because I tried to call her up on my return that Thurs night from Jamaica, in what a [[strikethrough]] mood [[/strikethrough]] state of irritated exhaustion Doris was then, and I suppose she literally blew her top off. [[insert above line]] that one such as I [[/ end inset above line]]  I have tried to write to her then but she has told me in the same hysterical state [[strikethrough]] hysterical [[/strikethrough]] to "shut up", adding (as usual) that the ruin of her life is all my fault. So I am not attempting to write to her at all - at least for the present.

She called me up Sunday (yesterday) about getting you to bring back some chairs from the attic, and gave me the Auerbach's  and Dan Talbot's tele. nos. I called both places but you were not there. Now, what I want to say, Jack, is that I am sorry you didn't come to [[strikethrough]] see me [[/strikethrough]] stay with me. I would not have pestered you with arguments or questions. It is none of my business to interfere in any way, and I am not going to. But I think a great deal of you, Jack, and I don't want to lose you, [[strikethrough]] Doris or [[/strikethrough]]  And I [[strikethrough]] am lost [[/strikethrough]] want you to feel that the house is open as usual for you. I shall expect you in April.
With love, as ever, 
D H Blake

P.S. I am having such a sad time, -Doris Cochran is suffering from terminal cancer and is given only a few weeks to live.