"Alexander Woollcott was terrifically sentimental about birthdays and Christmas. He sent telegrams and letters to many friends on their birthdays, and was deeply hurt unless he received similar remembrances in return. To ensure a good haul, he sometimes sent out the following letter to selected friends: 'Another milestone in American literature is approaching. January 19 is my birthday, in case a sudden flood of sentiment should seek expression in gifts or cash or certified checques.'"
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