Suivez le quotidien d’une femme américaine en 1945 à travers cet authentique feuilleton historique. HistoBook publie une nouvelle lettre tous les jeudis !
Tuesday, Feb. 13th
Dear Barnacle Bill -
Happy Valentine’s eve. I’m dreadfully sorry that tomorrow you will be valentine less, dear, but I did not know where you were in time to send one. I sound as though I know exactly where you are now, don’t I ?
Remember the sentimental organ ? That was you valentine last year. My devotion for you should always paper in spectacular form, because of it’s intensity. I’ll have to think up something really good next year, to make up for this one. I did some valentine shopping for Sharry, and I’ve decided that I’m a hopeless sentimentalist. The facicious, sophisticated witty ones have no appeal at all for me, I like the lacy, red plush, beribboned slush that read of hearts aflame and undying love.
Yes, dear, tomorrow I shall be melancholy and reminiscent because it’s the most romantic day of the year, and my love lies over the ocean.
Yesterday your two letters came. They were about as personal as a weather report, but I was delighted to get them. Darling, please ignore the censors, and give a bit. You are awfully cute, really, but I want so much to hear that you still love me. I’m practically slaphappy since I came to the part where you said that i’ll be seeing you long before I thought I would. Oh, Darling, I love you so. I’m so terribly lonesome for you. If I have my nose operated on, do you think I could ask the Red Cross to bring you home ? They probably wouldn’t consider it a crisis.
Happy Valentine’s Day. It’s now 12:01 and past my bed time. I love you.
Good night, dearest.
P.S. You do still love me ?