The next intruder piled them on the billiard-table without a word. Clara Clemens, at Norfolk, was written to of the matter. The archdeacon took it andhanded it to Clemens as some precious jewel. Sometimes we went as high as Carnegie's, onNinety-second Street, and rode home on top of the electric stage--alwaysone of Mark Twain's favorite diversions.
Yours by the sanctions of time & deserving, Sincerely, S. I knew he was coming, but I never dreamed it was to play for me. The direction of his literary affairs was left to hisdaughter Clara and the writer of this history. It was three months since he had been believed to be dying,yet he was still alive, still at work, though he could no longer speak.
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