Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

33. he sat with his face but a few inches from mine, so that with each word he uttered, a wave of I got a strong whiff of his breath; which was freighted with bad liquor.

     He was pleased that I came to see him; and he was yearning for some warmth on my part, but I could not give it to him – he repelled me completely.

     The countryside was different to what it was two years ago – it was as fresh& green & luxuriant as in June. Cloudy weather predominated while I was there, and I finally gave up the picture and came home.

                        August 28, 1934 –

The death of a friendship is depressing – Frank L. has come around but once since he returned from Virginia, and then only because I met him on the street and “dragged” him back. I have racked by brain to discover what I have done, but can think of nothing. However, the relationship between us has long ago dwindled – Something has happened by slow degrees – either he has changed, or I. When I think of our “free-masonry” (sic( based on our appreciation of Jazz, Negro spirituals, Walt Whitman