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Transcribers

  1. 68635623 - LightLili
  2. WINNER - 68727730 - Preacher357
  3. 68998009 - jesseytucker
  4. 69596151 - JanetCormack
  5. 70233174 - Zooniverse2017
  6. 70529643 - Sydgcole

68635623 - LightLili

Blackheath

Sunday

Dearest Sylvia

The weather hesitates between sunny and gray: what will it
do, I wonder? If possible I shall work in the garden, but
probably it is too windy. I notice clouds increasing, too.
The lectures I have to get ready for this week will take all
day - and more, so I shall make a start on them after this
letter is posted.

Have you heard anything from Britania and Eve yet? I saw
Iris, for a drink, the other evening and she asked after the
final details of your show. Andr'e is having some heart
trouble it seems, at the moment: he must not get excited
but cannot stop from becoming excited, and 'palpitations'
result.

Speaking of illness, poor Monica (at the Tate) has not been
well for a long time, as you know. It seems that, at pre-
sent, she is suffering with a period which, instead of com-
ing once a month, has lasted for over a month. Her doctor
seems unable to stop it.

The dentist may be able to finish me in one more visit:
anyway, two will certainly see it finished. Did I tell
you I was early to my last appointment: early to the den-
tist. There's a name for people who make that mistake.

Winter Odalisque is so nice a name for your life painting.
And your other paintings, what of them? I want not to
miss any piece of news, however small, about them.

Here are pieces of my new poems. Not quite complete but
on the way:

CARYATIDS:

Locked where they are they make a world
of being forbidden, show time
took off the guilty hands, right and left:
now the house is a basket on each head.

Proud as marble, they cannot reach
their own body, like another's,
haunting and alien at the touch;
strict example to our extra limbs
which carry and send me.

Look Ma, no hands.

WINNER - 68727730 - Preacher357

Blackheath Sunday Dearest Sylvia

The weather hesitates between sunny and grey: what will it
do, I wonder? If possible I shall work in the garden, but
probably it is too windy. I notice clouds increasing, too.
The lectures I have to get ready for this week will take all
day - and more, so I shall make a start on them after this
letter is posted.

Have you heard anything from Britania and Eve yet? I saw
Iris, for a drink, the other evening and she asked after the
final details of your show. Andre is having some heart
trouble it seems, at the moment: he must not get excited
but cannot stop from becoming excited, and 'palpitations'
result.

Speaking of illness, poor Monica (at the Tate) has not been
well for a long time, as you know. It seems that, at pre-
sent, she is suffering with a period which, instead of com-
ing once a month, has listed for over a month. Her doctor
seems unable to stop it.

The dentist may be able to finish me in one more visit:
anyway, two will certainly see it finished. Did I tell
you I was early to my last appointment: early to the den-
tist. There's a name for people who make that mistake.

Winter Odalisque is so nice a name for your life painting.
And your other paintings, what of them? I want not to
miss any piece of news, however small, about them.

Here are pieces of my new poems. Not quite complete but
on the way:

CARYATIDS

Locked where they are they make a world
of being forbidden, slow time
took off the guilty hands right and left:
now the house is a basket on each head.

Proud as marble, they cannot reach
their own body, like another's,
haunting and alien at the touch;
strict example to our extra limbs
which carry and send me.

Look Ma, no hands.

68998009 - jesseytucker

Blackheath
Sunday
Dearest Sylvia
The weater hesitates between sunny and grey: what will it
do, I wonder? IF possible I shall work in the garden, but
probably it is too windy. I notice clouds increasing, too.
The lectures I have to get ready for this week will take all
day--and more, so I shall make a start on them after this
letter is posted.
Have you heard anything from Britania and Eve yet? I saw
Iris, for a drink, the other evening and she asked after the
final details of yor show. Andre is having some heart
trouble it seems, at the moment: he must not get excited
but cannot stop from becoming excited, and 'palpitations'
result.
Speaking of illness, poor Monica (at the Tate) has not been
well for a long time, as you know. It seems that, at pre-
sent, she is suffering with a period which, instead of com-
ing once a month, has lasted for over a month. Her doctor
seems unable to stop it.
The dentist may be able to finish me in one more visit:
anyway, two will certianly see it finished. Did I tell
you I was early to my last appointment: early to the den-
tist. There's a name for people who make that mistake.
Winter Odalisque is so nice a name for your life painting.
Asn your other paintings, what of thm? I want not to
miss any piece of news, however small, about them.
Here are pieces of my new poems. Not quite complete but
on the way:
CARYATIDS
Locked where they are they make a world
of being forbidden, slow time
took off the guilty hands, right and left:
now the house is a basket on each head.
Proud as marble, they cannot reach
their own body, like another's
haunting and alien at the touch;

69596151 - JanetCormack

Blackheath
Sunday
Dearest Sylvia
The weather hesitates between sunny and grey: what will it do, I wonder? If possible I shall work in the garden, but probably it is too windy. I notice clouds increasing, too. The lectures I have to get ready for this week will take all day - and more, so I shall make a start on them after this letter is posted.
Have you heard anything from Britania and Eve yet? I saw Iris, for a drink, the other evening and she asked after the final details of your show. Andre is havng some heart trouble, it seems at the moment: he must not get excited but cannot stop from becoming excited, and 'palpitations' result.
Speaking of illness, poor Monica (at the Tate) has not been well for a long time, as you know. It seems that, at present, she is suffering with a period which, instead of coming once a month, has lasted for over a month. Her doctor seems unable to stop it.
The dentist may be able to finsh me in one more visit: anyway, two will certainly see it finished. Did I tell you I was early to my last appointment: early to the dentist. There's a name for people who make that mistake.
Winter Idalisque is so nice a name for your life painting. And your other paintings, what of them? I want not to miss any piece of news, however small, about them.
Here are pieces of my new poems. Not quite complete but on the way:
CARYATIDS

Locked where they are they make a world
Of being forbidden, slow time
took off the guilty hands, right and left:
now the house is a basket on each head.

Proud as marble, they cannot reach
their own body, like another's,
haunting and alien at the touch;
strict example to our extra limbs
with carry and send me.

Look Ma, no hands.

70233174 - Zooniverse2017

Blackheath

Sunday

Dearest Sylvia

The weather hesitates between sunny and grey: what wil it
do, I wonder? If possible I shall work in the garden, but
probably it is too windy. I notice clouds increasing, too.
The lectures have to get ready for this week will take all
day - and more, so I shall make a start on them after this
letter is posted.

Have you heard anything from Britania and Eve yet? I saw
Iris, for a drink, the other evening and she asked after the
final details of your show. Andr'e is having some heart
trouble it seems, at the moment: he must not get excited
but cannot stop from becoming excited, and 'palpitations'
result.

Speaking of illness, poor Monica (at the Tate) has not been
well for a long time, as you know. It seems that, at pre-
sent, she is suffering with a period which, instead of com-
ing once a month, has lasted for over a month. Her doctor
seems unable to stop it.

The dentist may be able to finish me in one more visit:
anyway, two will certainly see it finished. Did I tell
you I was early to my last appointment: early to the en-
tist. There's a name for people who make that mistake.

Winter Odalisque is so nice a name for your life painting.
And your paintings, what of them? I want not to
miss any piece of news, however small, about them.

Here are my pieces for my new poems. Not quite complete but
on the way:

CARYATIDS

Locked where they are they make a world
of being forbidden, slow time
took off the guilty hands right and left:
now the house is a basket on each head.

Proud as marble, they cannot reach
their own body, like another's,
haunting and alien at the touch:
strict example to our extra limbs
which carry and send me.

Look Ma, no hands.

70529643 - Sydgcole

Blackheath

Sunday

Dearest Sylvia

The weather hesitates between sunny and grey: what will it
do, I wonder? If possible I shall work in the garden, but
probably it is too windy. I notice clouds increasing, too.
The lectures I have to get ready for this week will take all
day - and ore, so I shall make a start on them after this
letter is posted.

Have you heard anything from Britania and Eve yet? I saw
Iris, for a drink, the other evening and she asked after the
final details of your show. Andre is having some heart
trouble it seems, at the moment: he must not get excited
but cannot stop from becoming excited, and 'palpitations'
result.

Speaking of illness, poor Monica (at the Tate) has not been
well for a long time, as you know. It seems that, at pre-
sent, she is suffering with a period which, instead of com-
ing once a month, has lasted for over a month. Her doctor
seems unable to stop it.

The dentist may be able to finish me in one more visit:
anyway, two will certainly see it finished. Did I tell
you I was early to my last appointment: early to the den-
tist. There's a name for people who makes that mistake.

Winter Odalisque is so nice a name for your life painting.
And your other paintings, what of them? I want not to
miss any piece of news, however small, about them.

Here are pieces of my new poems. Not quite complete but
on the way:

CARYATIDS

Locked where they are they make a world
of being forbidden, slow time
took off the guilty hand, right and left:
now the house is a basket on each head.

Proud as marble, they cannot reach
their own body, like another's,
hannting and alien at the touch;
stric example to our extra limbs
which carry and send me.

Look Ma, no hands.

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