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Vienna, February 4, 1920
IX., Berggasse 19
Dear friend, Don't worry about me. I am the same except for somewhat more fatigue. The death, as painful as it is, does not overturn any attitude toward life. For years I was prepared for the loss of my sons, now comes that of my daughter. Since I am profoundly unbelieving, I have no one to blame, and I know there is no place where one can lodge a complaint. The “eternally uniformly set clock of duty”1 and the “sweet habit of being”2 will do the