Halifax, 1917

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Dear Leonard,

I've been back in this town for less than a day and I'm already desperate to be away from this place. I tried telephoning you this evening, but your mother told me you had gone back to Montreal. I had hoped we would be able to sit down and have a bit of a talk.

For all my moaning about how Halifax seemed to be asleep all the time, now that it's so busy, it makes my head hurt. I tried taking a stroll down on the Arm but it made me nervous seeing the soldiers and their girls. Why would that make me nervous? It hit me all of a sudden as I was walking home.

Mother is being Mother-ish. Daniel only wants to get me drunk and into the knickers of some short-time girl. I just want to be left alone.

Worst of all, my old dog went and died on me when I was gone. The poor bugger. It's funny how no one seemed to think Larsen was important enough to tell me about him. Only one person seemed to understand, some girl in the house who told me that Larsen was a faithful pup until the end.

Maybe this feeling of having no one to talk to will pass. I tried visiting with Frank and Barnes, but to hear them talk you'd swear they were on holiday the whole time. I don't want to end up like that MacKinnon fellow, blowing my brains out one morning after giving myself a shave. At least I don't have shell shock, but I am terribly lonely.

Ring me up when you're back in Halifax. I won't be here at the city house, as I'm going to the country, but Mother will give you the number and I'll take the train down to visit if you can't come to me.

Sincerely,

Robert S. Monroe

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