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To H. H. Bancroft, in San Francisco:
UP IN NEW HAMPSHIRE,
May 27, 1905.
DEAR MR. BANCROFT,--I thank you sincerely for the tempting hospitalities
which you offer me, but I have to deny myself, for my wandering days are
over, and it is my desire and purpose to sit by the fire the rest of
my remnant of life and indulge myself with the pleasure and repose of
work--work uninterrupted and unmarred by duties or excursions.
A man who like me, is going to strike 70 on the 30th of next November
has no business to be flitting around the way Howells does--that
shameless old fictitious butter fly. (But if he comes, don't tell him
I said it, for it would hurt him and I wouldn't brush a flake of powder
from his wing for anything. I only say it in envy of his indestructible
youth, anyway. Howells will be 88 in October.) With thanks again,
Sincerely yours,
S. L. C.
Clemens found that the air of the New Hampshire hills agreed with
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