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as shown in Henry Moors sculptor which looses itself in these tributarys of self seeking all around to day. Little people climing their little hills. They cannot see the sky for the top of their hill.
Dear Raymonde must be dead now, but where are her children?
Ruth Draper seemed to love that flat of Raymonds What a period of talent that was & a respect for greater talent which is also lacking to day. 

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