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Cojucan Nov. 30. 1943.

Florence darling,

Please forgive my laziness! You know what kind of "son of a gun" I am for writting. But in my heart you are all the time, and inspite my apparent forgetfulness, I am the same Frida as ever.

Darling, Diego was very happy with the beautiful color-photo you send him. It is right in front of his bed and every morning I see you there. We miss you a lot.

My life is the same. Some times OK. Some times damn boring. I can't say the same for Diego. He is never bored. He works like the devil, and he is always constructing something. His pyramid on the "pedregal" is getting every day more magnificent and the painting he is doing at the Institute of Cardiology is gorgeous. Since you left I finish three paintings (small ones) I sold one, and the other two are on Verbellaire's Gallery. But I think I will take them away from there, because that damn gallery is every day lousier. About my painting of the 4 monkeys you took to the states, I haven't [[strikethrough]] herd [[/strikethrough]] heard a word from Julien. I am a little bit affraid something happen to it. What do you think? Did you write to Julien about it? Shall I write to him? Or what can I do? I am sorry to bother 

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