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It does not matter, now. In speaking of it, Mark Twain once
said: "It is as pathetic a romance as any that has crossed
the field of my personal experience in a long lifetime."--
[When Mark Twain: A Biography was written this letter had
not come to light, and the matter was stated there in
accordance with Mark Twain's latest memory of it.]
Howells wrote: "After all, how poor and hackneyed all the
inventions are compared with the simple and stately facts.
Who could have imagined such a heart-break as that? Yet it
went along with the fulfillment of everyday duty and made no
more noise than a grave under foot. I doubt if fiction will
ever get the knack of such things."
Jane Clemens now lived with her son Orion and his wife, in
Keokuk, where she was more contented than elsewhere. In
these later days her memory had become erratic, her
realization of events about her uncertain, but there were
times when she was quite her former self, remembering
clearly and talking with her old-time gaiety of spirit.
Mark Twain frequently sent her playful letters to amuse her,
letters full of such boyish gaiety as had amused her long
years before. The one that follows is a fair example. It
was written after a visit which Clemens and his family had
paid to Keokuk.
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