Original Letter


                        December 4th 1917.


My Own Dearest:

I got two lovely letters this morning, jusqu’à midi and I have been thrilling to them ever since. There were so many things in your letter amusing things and true things. For instance the old dames saying that je n’ai pas besoin de enfant parce que vous êtes une enfant terrible. The first part of that is the truest phrase ever coined and if she had said tout à fait charmante instead of terrible she would have been all right. Certainly I have no need of anything else in the world but you. You are quite the most perfect lady ever and je t’adore. You are perfect in every way, Baby and I can never admire you enough or tell you a quarter how nice you are. Why can’t I? Sometimes I could kick myself for being so tongue tied but always I am haunted by the fear that I have never told you enough of my love for you or how wonderful you are how much better you are than anyone else and cleverer. Anyway, you are, and I would say it to your face. I couldn’t get a proper opportunity last night to brace Major Keegan for leave but just as he was going out I mentioned it and he said why not get nine days and take your regular leave when your turn comes. He beat it then and so the matter stands. To-day I shall brace him again. I’d take nine days flying if I could get it and fourteen days later on. Twenty-three days looks better than fourteen. And I am just croaking to only see you even for just a little minute.

Wouldn’t it be putrid if Billee had to go to Italy? Poor little Madame Netta, but surely nothing so ghastly will happen. Italy is trop loin and it would be difficult to slip in there weekends.

I got my hair cut this morning, pretty nearly shaved and it looks very queer, my head I mean. Certainly I think that I am getting bald and I must get a bottle of brilliantine tout de suite. I expect old “Sans Cela” was right about it and I shall lose my hair. Anyway I am working hard on it with the brosse and massage and hoping for the best.

What do you mean I am not quite such a cat on my feet as I thought I was? Those places I fell would have encompassed the fall of St. Anthony or the boss cat. Its funny though you will sometimes get absolutely plastered with mud and just as soon as it dried it brushes off easily and leaves no trace and some of that mud is mighty filthy.

Now Dearest, I haven’t written you half the letter I wanted to but I must close. But I want to know if you love me before I close. Would you take me in your arms and tell me properly just once. I am cra—ing to be told.

            With all my love Dear

                        Your own Ross