recorded my helpers in case my memory may fail or that like human nature I may some day have the presumption to consider myself more than a very discreditable & superfluous atom of humanity. When discovering you were an editor - a whole real live editor, I think it the achievement of my life to have actually assisted in the bullyragging of one. Surely with Mr Patterson we can circumvent a whole army of Pinkers. Perhaps he thinks he is dealing with a little black gin because I'm a bush girl & and he will be a trifle surprised by & bye if we can only "get home" on him. It was very silly, but somehow you never suggested yourself to me as an individual with a profession, (not the profession) who ate & drank and perhaps even slept and snored, like - like - say Mr Pinker. I only thought of you as a mind a very sympathetic, understanding mind; now with Mr Pinker, even his boots & ties are plain in my mind & and there is no soul in the picture at all. You must be overwhelmed with editorial botherations & I'm aghast to think of the way I plague you (& still keep doing it all the same 'sez you') but you must blame my intuitions which sent me to you just as they warned me against Mr Pinker at the start. Recently a Sydney girl invited me to spend a day with her & and offered to entertain me in any way I should suggest & I informed her if she would only point me out an editor, one of those fierce & fearsome creatures - one ambition would be realised & to imagine my favourite letters were from an editor all the time. Don't think I wont make an effort to polish next work more: when I think of that other (talk of higgledy piggledy) scratched down in a few moments when I ran away from meals[?] began in a joke & next to no revision, nothing to measure myself by