"DEAR WIFE,--If you could see my shoulder dressed of a morning you
would laugh. They cuts out little pieces of lint like a picture puzzle
to fit the places, and I've got a regular map of Blighty all down my
arm; but that's not so bad as my back, which I cannot see and which
the wound is as long--"
I blotted the sheet and turned over, and Private Brown eyed the space
left for further cheerful communications.
"Shall I leave this for you to finish?" I suggested, thinking of
tender messages difficult to dictate. "Your fingers may be better
after tea, or perhaps to-morrow morning."
"That's all right, Miss. There's nothing more to put except my name,
if you'll just say, "Good-bye, dear wife, hoping this finds you well
as it leaves me at present."
* * * * *