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49 / Elizabeth Knight Tompkins Sister of Juliet Wilbor Tompkins, Elizabeth Knight Tompkins (1865–1955) was also a novelist and playwright who departed San Francisco for New York City to advance her literary career. She too lived on Wash­ing­ton Square and remained a member of Norris’s circle through 1902 when he and Jeannette left Manhattan for San Francisco on their way to research “The Wolf.” Source: Elizabeth Knight Tompkins to Jeannette Williamson Norris, letter, No­ vem­ ber 8, 1902, Frank Norris Collection, BANC MSS C-­ H 80, The Bancroft Library, University of California, Berke­ ley. My dear Mrs. Norris, I am thinking of you so constantly these days that it seems as if my thought must have reached you of its own motion. This blow that has befallen you is so needlessly hard, and in my eyes it is not sof­ tened by any of the fictions that people invent because they are not strong enough to face the awful sadness, the unprofitable cruelty of life as it is. I have such a vivid remembrance of Frank that winter in New York when I first knew him. It was the winter before you were married,76 and he was so preoccupied that he did not take the trouble to make connections with other women,—not that I think he and I could ever have been­ congenial,—for one thing, my mental detachment in regard to the life in which he took so keen an interest would have jarred upon him. Still, it was always a pleasure to me to be with him; his personality was always so extremely attractive to me that I liked him better than many men who would have liked me better. Of course his air of distinction and great good looks made one ready to like him, and then, back of that, there was the pleasant surprise of finding qualities that one did not anticipate. A man so good to look upon generally feels that he has no further obligations, and perhaps he has done his share. Perhaps the sunniness, the kindliness, the simplicity of Frank’s nature, the intensity of life in him, were more than one had a right to ask for,—not to Part 4. Professional Years / 195 speak of his mental alertness and the interest his literary promise aroused. I had a great curiosity to see what the man would accomplish who had written McTeague so young. I have never lost anyone very dear to me by death and yet I have a keener realization of that sorrow than of some I have felt. I feel as if I knew all its phases, as if I had experienced every pang. I know so well what to miss anyone means that I recognize the hopelessness of saying anything that will really help. This letter is more to free my mind of a little of the burden of sympathy than for any other reason. The little poem of Lowell’s that was in all our readers is running in my head: Console if you will, I can bear it; ’Tis a well-­ meant alms of breath; But not all the preaching since Adam Has made Death other than Death.77 I do know what I am writing when I say that your little daughter will help you through. My little nephew, my sister Bonnie’s boy, is a daily joy to us. She lost her husband—as the result of an operation—when she had been married only two years, and now her life is in little John’s. I shall hear of you when I can through the friends we have in common. Poor Juliet can write or think of nothing else but your sorrow. It has been a great shock to her. And yesterday a letter from Gilbert expressed his deep sympathy.78 Just this minute the postman brought the letter that always comes from Juliet on Saturday. In it, she says: “Be sure and tell me if you hear how Jeannette is. I can’t get over it—it’s the saddest thing I ever knew. We have talked about Frank so much this week. I am going to miss them very much out of my life here.”  Sincerely, your friend, Elizabeth Knight Tompkins ...

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