Writings by Susan Dickinson


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H bMS Am 1118.95, Box 9


2

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
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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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