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  <node>
    <title>Boyd110</title>
    <Collections>Boyd Letters</Collections>
    <Contributor>Boyd Estate</Contributor>
    <Coverage>19 Jan</Coverage>
    <Creator>Linen Hall Library</Creator>
    <Date>Wednesday, March 16, 2016</Date>
    <Format>TIFF</Format>
    <Identifier>Boyd110</Identifier>
    <ItemDescription>Letter</ItemDescription>
    <Keywords>McLaverty</Keywords>
    <Language>English</Language>
    <Path>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/boyd110</Path>
    <Publisher>Linen Hall Library</Publisher>
    <Relation>Linen Hall Library</Relation>
    <Rights>Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA</Rights>
    <Scannedimage>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Boyd110_1.jpg</Scannedimage>
    <Source>LHL Archive</Source>
    <Transcript>﻿Short story. As you know (for I&#039;ve told you)
he regards The Foundry House as a masterpiece: a
word he normally reserves for Chekhov and xxxxx
xxxxxx
Mc Laverty is as fastidious a critic as he is a writer.
But this letter looks like turning into a eulogy of him
as well as yourself, and I&#039;m determined to avoid that.
Instead I&#039;ll just say what comes into my head, as Stendhal
did when writing Henry Brulard  Have you read it?
If not do     You see what&#039;s happening, don&#039;t you?
I&#039;m still trying to educate you: for you once gave
</Transcript>
    <Type>Text</Type>
  </node>
</>
