So, now, I shall frame it as a souvenir of one of the most unhappy occasions I ever witnessed.

You can form no idea of what a change it has made.

It really seems to have stunned every one--that is the usual and accepted word, but this time it describes it perfectly.
Goodbye, DICK.
During the summer of 1903 my mother and father occupied a cottage at Marion, and every morning Richard started the day by a visit to them.
My brother had already bought his Crossroads Farm at Mount Kisco, and the new house was one of the favorite topics of their talk.

The following letter was written by my mother to Richard, after her return to Philadelphia.
September, 1903.
Here we are in the old library and breakfast over.

There seemed an awful blank in the world as I sat down just now, and I said to Dad "Its Dick--he must come THIS morning." You don't know how my heart used to give a thump when you and Bob came in that old door.