And as long as we are just talking about the sanitarium, and if you understand pretty well what this letter is saying—I am probably not making it too hard for you—why, perhaps you could save yourself the advertisements and also the trips, for I can recommend myself for the position of housekeeper with the very clearest conscience. And wouldn't it really be lovely, dear Doctor Graesler, if we two should work together as comrades—I almost said as colleagues—in the establishment. That sanitarium, now—as a matter of fact, if I must confess it, I have been fond of it for a long time. Longer than the future director. The location and the layout of the park are wonderful. It is a pity the way Doctor Frank has let it go to rack and ruin. And besides, they made a mistake in accepting every imaginable kind of patient that did not belong there at all, as they have recently done. I think it ought to be equipped again exclusively for neuropathics. With the exception of cases of real mental derangement; that goes without saying.
"But where am I getting to? There is still plenty of time to talk that over—in any event at least until to-morrow—even if, for the rest, we should not altogether understand one another. At any rate, you could use your period of travel to get publicity for the institution in Berlin and in other big cities. As a matter of fact, I am acquainted with several Berlin professors from my nursing days; perhaps they will still remember me. Oh, I can see you smiling. But I'll have to put up with that. A letter like this is not such an altogether common occurrence, is it? I know that perfectly well. Malicious people might call it throwing yourself at somebody, or something of the kind. But you are not a malicious person and you will take the letter in the spirit in which it was written. I love you, my friend, not perhaps in just the way you read about in novels, but from my very heart nevertheless. And I suppose my being so sorry to see you wandering around in the world so lonesome has a little to do with it. It is really quite possible that I should never have written this letter if your good sister were still alive. For she was good; I am sure of it. And perhaps I love you also because I respect you as a doctor. Yes, I do. To be sure, one might find you a bit cold at times. But I suppose that is just a way you have about you; inside I am sure you are sympathetic and kind. And the essential thing is that one has confidence in you immediately, as happened with Mother and Father. And that, my dear Doctor Graesler, was
