France, 1917

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Dear Daniel,

You never would have made it over here.  You can't even begin to understand what it's like. Part of me wishes you are here with me, but the other part of me is glad that you went home. In the end, your problem was probably a blessing.

It's been raining for almost a week and everyone is sniffling, and with your sickness it would have gotten worse if you didn't get shot first. Mother sent me some gloves and they are warm, but not much good if they are wet.

The doctor has told me that I'm losing the hearing in one ear. I haven't told Mother, so keep it to yourself, but I may return home deaf. Better deaf than a cripple, which is how Gordon Lewis is coming home, or dead like Banks and Holloway. They won't be coming home at all. Hard to believe they are gone. I remember the trouble we all used to get up to together.

You had better be careful going into those places. One fellow here has a brother who went in there and came out with a knife stuck in his side.

It wouldn't kill you to spend more time with Mother.


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