YALTA, January 29, 1900.
They have written to me that you have grown very fat and become dignified, and I did not expect that you would remember me and write to me. But you have remembered me — and thank you very much for it, dear. You write nothing about your health: evidently it’s not bad, and I am glad. I hope your mother is well and that everything is going on all right. I am nearly well; I am ill from time to time, but not often, and only because I am old — the bacilli have nothing to do with it. And when I see a lovely woman now I smile in an aged way, and drop my lower lip — that’s all.
* * * * *
Lika, I am dreadfully bored in Yalta. My life does not run or flow, but crawls along. Don’t forget me; write to me now and then, anyway. In your letters just as in your life you are a very interesting woman. I press your hand warmly.
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