Ruth darling,
Ray Williams had me over to dinner this afternoon. The meal was good and the time passed pleasantly, but I wished I were with you instead. Today was lovely, cool, clear—in fact just about right for a walk with you; yet any day would be just about right if you were with me. That is why my life is going to be a glorious one always—if the time until next June will ever pass.
The pharmacology notes have been taking a slight beating this evening, not a hard one though. Seems I can study very well, but not about pharmacology. Guess what?
Just now a song is coming from the radio, a song which makes me long even more, if possible, than ever for you. It is the beautiful “One Alone” from “The Desert Song.” ((Add reference.))
“The world would be a magic world to me,
If she were mine alone.”
It is, and I think she is; it’s certain she can be sure I’m her’s alone.
Is the surrounding country getting pretty well explored, or is there enough left to keep you from taking up the hunting of miners for diversion? If you did that I’m afraid you would soon have so many trophies that the mines would have to turn to power alone, or close. Here’s hoping for an inexhaustible supply of trails and scenery, although I’ve no fear that is necessary, for you are an honest and faithful little sweetheart unless you have completely fooled me. It is true at any rate that you are able to inspire honesty and faithfulness.
The mail situation must have been corrected, for I stopped by your house today, but found nothing which had been delivered since my previous trip.
Give my regards to the family, and tell Margaret ((Margaret Erlanger, 1908–1974. Ruth’s older sister.)) that she needn’t pity me for having to read your (as she called it) scrawl, the ones to be pitied are those millions of fellows who don’t have that great privilege. I’m looking forward to tomorrow and another letter from you; and even more to those many, many glorious—if poverty-stricken—tomorrows with you, darling.
The time has come to send you my love, but there will be more tomorrow, for, dearest, you never saw anything else which grew so rapidly. Not only with all my heart, but with all my being,
I love you,
Harold
P.S. Have you told Herman? And what does he think?
RHS