Writings by Susan Dickinson

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H bMS Am 1118.95, Box 9


children's ears between her/his wash-tub and
pie-making as a vent for an unstrung[?]
system, has the money to coddle herself
taking the spring from Miss Heramy's[?] nurse
who is ready in all service from the
gentle friction[?] of my lady's st[?] to the
reading of the last French novel with
accent Parisienne. As I strolled from
this tropical atmosphere I realized I
had lived a long life; the world had
progressed. My mind ran back over my
experience in the hands of such nurses
as the times afforded till I found myself
laughing aloud in the street from the
contrast. The picture seemed worth the
painting. I pride myself on my own
nursing power - it was born in never
yielding over the exquisite joy of caring
for my own and sharpening my sensi-
tiveness to my own sufferings in the hands
of my paid attendants when illness bent
me to this trial. Like many others, there
is preserved to me a dreamy confused im-
pression of an hour in the dim past when a
wonderful hand touched my face and smoothed

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Writings by Susan Dickinson Main Page
Image reproduced by permission of the Houghton Library, Harvard University.
Not to be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
Transcription and commentary copyright 1998 by Martha Nell Smith,
Laura Elyn Lauth, and Lara Vetter, all rights reserved
Maintained by Rebecca Mooney  <rnmooney@umd.edu>
Last updated on January 24, 2008

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