But you are not to take too seriously my dislike of * * *[15] I like him personally very well; he talks like a normal human being. It is only that damned book of his. He was here and came out to my tenement a few evenings ago, finding me in bed and helpless from lumbago, as I was for weeks. I am now able to sit up and take notice, and there are even fears for my recovery. My enemies would say, as Byron said of Lady B., I am becoming "dangerously well again." [15] Excised by G. S. * * * * * As to harlots, there are not ten in a hundred that are such for any other reason than that they wanted to be. Their exculpatory stories are mostly lies of magnitude. Sloots writes me that he will perhaps "walk over" from the mine to Yosemite next summer. I can't get there much before July first, but if there is plenty of snow in the mountains next winter the valley should be visitable then. Later, I hope to beguest myself for a few days at the Pine Inn, Carmel. Tell it not to the Point Lobos mussel! My love to Carrie. Sincerely yours, AMBROSE BIERCE. [Washington, D. C., December 27, 1911.] DEAR GEORGE, As you do not give me that lady's address I infer that you no longer care to have me meet her--which is a relief to me. * * * * * Yes, I'm a bit broken up by the death of Pollard, whose body I assisted to burn. He lost his mind, was paralyzed, had his head cut open by the surgeons, and his sufferings were unspeakable. Had he lived he would have been an idiot; so it is all right-- "But O, the difference to me!" If you don't think him pretty bright read any of his last three books, "Their Day in Court," "Masks and Minstrels," and "Vagabond Journeys." He did not see the last one--Neale brought down copies of it when he came to Baltimore to attend the funeral. I'm hoping that if Carlt and Lora go to Wagner's mine and we go to Yosemite, Lora, at least, will come to us out there. We shall need her, though Carrie will find that Misses C. and S. will be "no deadheads in the enterprise"--to quote a political phrase of long ago. As to me, I shall leave my ten-pounds-each books at home and, like St. Jerome, who never traveled with other baggage than a skull, be "flying light." My love to Carrie. Sincerely, AMBROSE BIERCE. [Washington, D. C., January 5, 1912.] DEAR LORA, It is good to hear from you again, even if I did have to give you a hint that I badly needed a letter. I am glad that you are going to the mine (if you go)--though Berkeley and Oakland will not be the same without you. And where can I have my mail forwarded?--and be permitted to climb in at the window to get it. As to pot-steaks, toddies, and the like, I shall simply swear off eating and drinking.