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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.