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As I write (noon) I have not heard a word since from Wash'n but of course our dear friend is buried & all has gone like tracks on the shore by sea waves washed away passing—

—Much the same with me (gradually yielding)—One betterment—I get out in a wheel'd chair, often twice a day—am sitting here by the open window—perfect weather—

best love— Walt Whitman   6 | 5/17/89