p.

January 23rd / '96
My Dear Clarence,
It is 5 o'clock
this Thursday evening, and
I am tired of practicing, have
written to Leicester, Alice Bailey
and your mother today,
and am now ready for my
happy little talk with you.
I wrote Alice a very
serious little sermon, urging
her to do something more
definite with her life instead
of pining for that which God
has not seen fit to give her
at least, now.