Yours came right. I am still imprison'd in my sick room, yet sitting up & reading & writing & (in limits) talking & being talked to—It is all tedious & long drawn out—the worst no prospect of real improvement—I mean in any body or leg strength, wh' is very low indeed—but my spirits &c. sort o' fair—appetite & sleep not bad considering—I do not want any thing, comfort or necessity, I crave for—
I shall print the little booklet November Boughs 140 pp.—and at same time a big Vol. (900 pages) comprehending all my stuff—verses & prose—bound in one—Shall send you copies soon as ready—will be a few weeks yet—I hear from Dr B[ucke], O'C[onnor], and J[ohn] B[urroughs]—I get the Transcripts & thank for them—Traubel unspeakably faithful & kind—
W W