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Tuesday Afternoon, 5:45
Dear
I have just finished writing Mr. James, and before that had just finished copying some stuff that I'm going to send him. I hadn't the heart to send him anything that I had, so I wrote him something new, which I have a sneaking feeling is even [bummer?]! It's a ten page sketch of our sleeping out in the hay. I'd like to send it to you, if I didn't hate so to copy it. Maybe I'll send it to
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New York.
I didn't get up this morning until nearly noon, think of that! And all afternoon I've been working on this other thing. So I have hardly had time to think about how far away you are going from me. I was glad, Dear, that our leave taking was so peaceable. I was such a little chump the night before! And the camouflage didn't break until after you were gone, for which I was very grateful to myself. Sometimes I wonder if you would [really?] recognize me if I did all the things I have to exert will power not to do. But I suppose it's the same with everybody.
But I did forget to say the things I had so meant to say! I guess you know most of them. But I do want you to feel me helping you when you are working and soothing you when you are very tired and very homesick. I want you to feel my love all around you taking the hard places out of your road and making you love the sacrifices you are making. I do so want to help you,
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Dear, just as you have helped me so very much. And when you do lose faith a little bit in yourself I want you to know that I have unflinching faith in you and in your ability to do noble things. I have always had that Wynne, and I do have it now. So remember! And Sweetheart, we will not drift apart, for we love each other.
This morning I ate you half and my half of the prune whip and tonight your wing of chicken. And every bite, even between bites, I thought of you. God keep you!
Edna