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in imigaination, I was starting out with
my daily load of malades to belove -
you with your arm thru mine as we
skirted the pearly mountains. Who's
a sentimentalist? - For twelve
days I was out at our advance post,
and yesterday was my first "lesson"
with Monsieur Ponchard. I will
be going out again on the 5th, so that
our system of graduated conversa-
tions will work out slowly. However,
I am getting on with a hit or miss
kind of French at which you,
Miss Sophistication, would probably
grow corpulent laughing -
Today I drove over our crookedest
route, some places in which I had
to back the car in order to get around
the corners - zig-zag all the way
up the side of the mountain. I
took the Lieut's car (a regular
touring car) and with me a re-
cuperatiing wounded captain for
the ride. He had been shot by a
mitrailleuse in the mountains a
month ago. I had rested for
some time in a monastary before
coming down to the valley - the isolated
kind of an old edifice that is well
storied in medeivel literature and
in literature of medieval times.
The "poke" of the place we past
and the road, and he came running
up to "mon commandant", threw