Darling,
Isn’t it queer that we should both pick on the same song from “Show Boat”? Last night I quoted a fragment from it, and today your letter contained another. Incidentally who wants to help loving somebody? I’m sure I don’t, and I hope you are too. Although there is good proof at hand that love, coupled with absence of the person loved, is one of the world’s greatest depressants—even worse than the wine of which you speak. And, while it occurs to me, are you going to develop into tippler on me, or is that reserved for very special occasions? From beer, to wine, to what next? To my arms soon, let us hope. They are frightfully empty since you are away, my little sweetheart. There surely are exceptions to the often repeated saying, “[illegible] Absence makes the heart grow fonder, of someone else,” for in one case I have in mind absence only makes the longing grow greater—but not for someone else. I’ll swear in any court that the last two weeks have been easily the equal of any two months I ever saw before. Do you suppose next June will ever come?
Are you still having rain? We have an occasional shower, and it is really cool, I had to hunt a blanket last night.
Today I filled out an application blank for an FERA (used to be CWA) job. You never saw such an inquisitorial document in your life. There were four typewritten pages with the most darn fool questions. How good were you in high school? What was your principal’s name? superintendant’s? What was your ranking? Did you have a father? A mother? Are they living? Are they mortgaged? (yes, to the Gov’t.)! etc, etc., etc. But I hope I can get a job, because we’ll surely need the money, my dearest.
If this is mailed right away it will make tonight’s mail, so shall close.
Darling, if you could only know how I miss you, how much I think of you, how proud I am of you, and how I watch for word from you, then you would begin to know a little of how much
I love you,
Harold