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Wednesday April 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

To Club St this afternoon with Samuel's high chair. He had his tea there. Mum came down to see us and was propped up with pillows by the piano. Gone is that friendly amusing chatter. That lovable wit. She just sat and watched us. Sam kept making wild dashes to the kitchen and the cellar steps. He is happier in our enormous flat. 

Our last night (holiday looming). Marjorie. Quiet.

-=-

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