Harris persuaded me to go and see a London specialist⁠—a waste of three guineas and a railway fare, as I told him; but by waiting until Wednesday I managed to get a cheap return. The London doctor pulled a long face and talked all round about and never straight out, until I said to him, “I’m a plain woman, Doctor, and I like things to be plainly stated. Is it cancer, or is it not?” And then, of course, he had to say it was. They say a year with care, and not too much pain, though I’m sure I can bear pain as well as any other Christian woman. Life seems rather lonely at times, with most of my friends dead or gone before. I wish you were in St.