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Dear rabbit, Now it's Saturday evening, I'm at home, I had diner, I plan to go to see Pygmalion at Beverly 3rd avenue. I'm tired of not seeing you, this would be the time to come to you in spite of work and deadlines but it's probably this the last time that I'm ambitious and want to do things above my liking and instinct. From next year on I plan to be more myself and less "the" STEINBERG. (What keeps me here is the book, a thing of vanity) By the way I saw yesterday evening the first proofs, it looks pretty good. If everything goes right I'll be able to bring you the first copy of the book.

Today I had lunch with Pagani, a schoolmate from Milano here for a while to study the local architecture. Very tireing, didn't want to go away, had almost to force him to go away 3 hours after lunch. I didn't have time to work much today so I gave up the planned weekend at Tino's. I'll go next week. I was also afraid of the tooth that's under influence of penicillin but can any moment get swollen. (I'm terrorized)

You didn't write me about your health. Why did you have fever everyday in Paris? Did you go to a doctor? As I wrote you dr. Hurd hopes that no more thread will come out. He says he never puts more than 8 stitches, usualy less.

Hot today.

It makes me mad that you write me about you only the letter version, that all I know of you is what you let me know.

I write [[strikethrough]] you [[/strikethrough]] one paragraph and then take a walk around the house, I'll have to take another shower before I'll go out.