Sometimes, though, she gets silent about nothing and wants to be very close to me, and I know what’s in her mind.

Of course she’s coming out this fall, and I have two more years at New Haven; still, things don’t look so impossible as they did a few months ago.

She belongs to me in a way—even if I lose her she belongs to me. Who knows? Anyhow, I’ll always be there.

Published in The Saturday Evening Post magazine (17 December 1927).

The end