I have seen Manoukhin. Yes, one has every confidence in such a man. He wishes me to begin the treatment at once. I am taking steps to try to do so, but it is not quite easy to arrange. It will cost me much money. I have 100 saved but I must make not only another 100 but enough to live on here and for special food and so on. Also I have L. M. to keep as well until I am strong enough to walk about and so on. It is all difficult, and for some reason I find it hard to accept all its difficulties, as one must. Perhaps for one thing it is not nice in a city. I had forgotten how women parade about, idle and unworthy, and how ignoble are the faces of men. It shocks me to see these faces. I want more than anything to cry! Does that sound absurd? But the lack of life in all these faces is terribly sad.

Forgive me. Let me speak of something else for a moment. While I was waiting at the clinic to-night the doors were all open and in the doctor's cabinet people were talking Russian. They talked all together. Doctor M.'s voice was above the other voices, but there was a continual chorus—all speaking. I cannot tell you how I love Russian. When I hear it spoken it makes me think of course always page 181 of Tchehov. I love this speech. I thought also of you; and I wished you were with me.

Now a bell is striking as though it turned over in its sleep to strike. It's very late. Good night.