Sincerely yours, Ambrose Bierce.
P.S. Here are things that I cut out for memoranda. On second thought I know all that; so send them to you for the betterment of your mind and heart. B.
San Jose,
October 17,
1894.
My dear Blanche,
Your kindly note was among a number which I put into my pocket at the postoffice and forgot until last evening when I returned from Oakland. (I dared remain up there only a few hours, and the visit did me no good.)
Of course I should have known that your good heart would prompt the wish to hear from your patient, but I fear I was a trifle misanthropic all last week, and indisposed to communicate with my species.
I came here on Monday of last week, and the change has done me good. I have no asthma and am slowly getting back my strength.
Leigh and Ina Peterson passed Sunday with me, and Leigh recounted his adventures in the mountains. I had been greatly worried about him; it seems there was abundant reason. The next time he comes I wish he would bring you. It is lovely down here. Perhaps you and Katie can come some time, and I'll drive you all over the valley—if you care to drive.
If I continue well I shall remain here or hereabout; if not I don't know where I shall go. Probably into the Santa Cruz mountains or to Gilroy. If I could have my way I'd live at Piedmont.