May 12, 1924, Austin to Northampton
Dear Helen,
Well old Sweetheart, you say I owe you a letter. I don't think I do, but here one is if you want to call it that. Just one more month, and you'll be – in my arms – maybe. I don't remember what that picture you have of me, or used to have, looks like; but from what I I remember of it it was a gross flattery. Of course I hope good looks isn't essential in a man, but then they might make some difference. So I just want to remind you, dear, of my exceptional gracefulness, my wonderful dancing ability and conversational powers. And then I want to remind you that my dishwater blond head of hair is always just as neatly combed as ever, or a little worse, and that for every pimple I used to have on my face a year ago, I now have ten. And then mentally, morally, and physically, as a whole, I'm not what I ought to. Better be thinking all this over when you come home on the train, so you won't be disappointed.
I still want that date.
Love,
Henry,
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