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August 29

     I stayed home and feverishly

wrote letters to Freshmen, and

upperclassmen, concerning the tea

(my writer's cramp is an actuality);

while Mother went house hunting.

Prospects for a home are not at all

optimistic; it’s well nigh impossible

to rent a house these days. Everyone

is taking advantage of the war for

a bit of profiteering, or else realize

postwar-houses will so surpass

present ones, that it is wisest to

sell them now.

     Mother and I met Dad for

dinner at the St. George. Elizabeth’s

friend, Hilda, was here when we


     A letter from Bill Breashears

and one from Bill Boyd. The latter

restored any sense of security I had

lost – along with the usual confusion.