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Dear JB

Nothing very special with me—bad enough yet and imprison'd in the room and chair, but easier and freer of the intestinal and bladder troubles and fearful weakness of ten weeks ago—At present I am sitting by the oak fire in my big chair, well protected—as it is bitter cold the last two days and now here—

The news from O'Connor is bad, and worse—he is confined to the house and seems to be failing. . . . Most probably I shall continue ab't the stage I am at present—maybe some time, but the future will eventuate itself, and it will of course be all right. I continue almost totally disabled from getting around, can hardly get across the room—have a good stout nurse, Ed Wilkins f'm Canada—no serious pain in particular—good heart yet—eat and sleep fairly—so you see it is not so bad as might be—(and perhaps will be yet)—

I enclose a piece you might like to see—Dr B[ucke] is expected here in a week or ten days—I suppose you hear f'm Horace Traubel and that keeps you posted. H. T. has been and is invaluable to me—my books are all printed etc. (I have a big book, complete poems and prose for you)—

Love to you and 'Sula and Julian— Walt Whitman