"'Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the Streets of Ascalon'--that the pavements of the Philistines have bruised my feet, and their Five Cities weary me, and Philistia's high towers are become a burden to my soul. For their gods are too many and too strange for me. So I am decided to remain here--ere 'they that look out of their windows be darkened' and 'the doors be shut in the Streets'--'and all the daughters of music shall be brought low.' "My poor comrade! Must you remain a prisoner in the Streets of Ascalon? Yet, through your soul I know as free and fresh a breeze is blowing as stirs the curtains at my open window!--You wonderful man to evoke in imagery--to visualise and conceive all that had to be concrete to cure me soul and body of my hurts! * * * * * "I have been reading Karl Westguard's new novel. Rix, there is no story in it, nothing at all that I can discover except a very earnest warming over of several modern philosophers' views and conclusions concerning social problems. "I hate to speak unkindly of it; I wanted to like it because I like Karl Westguard. But it isn't fiction and it isn't philosophy, and its treatment of social problems seems to follow methods already obsolete. "Do you think people will buy it? But I don't suppose Karl cares since he's made up his quarrel with his aunt. "Poor old lady! Did you ever see anybody so subdued and forlorn? Something has gone wrong with her. She told me that she had had a most dreadful scene with Langly and that she had not been well since. "I'm afraid that sounds like gossip, but I wanted you to know. _Is_ it gossip for me to tell you so much? I tell you about everything. If it's gossip, make me stop. * * * * * "And now--when are you coming to see me? I am still at Molly's, you know. My house is being cleaned and sweetened and papered and chintzed and made livable and lovable. "When?--please. "Your friend and comrade, STRELSA." Quarren telegraphed: "I'll come the moment I can. Look for me any day this week. Letter follows."