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  Dear Walt—

Just a line as you have been much in my thoughts lately. The Scottish Art Review is publishing a review of November Boughs next month—by me—and I send you a slip. The winter keeps very mild here, but gloomy, and we don't see much of the sun. I suppose you find your strength waning very much, and don't reckon to be long with us now. Mr. Sharpe, my old harper friend that I told you of, died a few days ago—"very quiet & gentle" says his son writing to me. I hope you have not much pain dear Walt; we shall miss you so much—but you will perhaps understand more about us than we about you.

I am in London for a week or two. A friend of yours, from Belfast, who does not give his name, wants to send the enclosed 22/6 to buy you some little thing, now  you are ill. So you will accept it, won't you? Affectionate remembrances to Herbert Gilchrist if you see him.

—and love to yourself as always Edward Carpenter

I saw Ernest Rhys a day or two ago

P.S. The Money Order is sent in my name.