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[Page 488]

we fished and rowed in true holiday style, and its trees and birds.

I was going to send you some pansies from a chateau where I was sleeping one night, but that night Fritz got the range, and by morning there were only a few burning walls, and the pansy plot was no more. Such is war! But with all its horrors, roses and trees still grow, and the canals flow on, and France still remains glorious. But it is not of the beauties of France that I'm scribbling this scrawl.

I know this will be among your July mail and it is to wish you many happy returns of "the tenth" that I write. O that I could be with you that day to kiss you my wishes! Yet I am not sorry that I am not – nor are you. Really you wouldn't like me to be there these times (excepting as a returned soldier), would you? Tell me. I am sending a sacred little

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