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6/9/1947 430 p:m.
We have started. Beautiful half foggy day. Most terrible crush at the docl. Murray, and two other fellows I know were there for me to wave at. Have past there a mass of war ships - all grey. Our guns are being oiled. We [shant?] likely be out of sights of envoying vessels.
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People of all kinds are on the boat. A professional dancer troupe included. Many ambulance expectants. Statue of Liberty is almost out of sight. But not out of mind. French is the language aboard. Tried to get directions to birth from a deck hand who couldn't under stand 500 in English. I wonder if he can understand 25cents. Of course, if he can,
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I can't communicate with him very often. Tonight and other nights I'll stand out on the deck alone in the envigorating breeze, and my arm will be about you and I will tell you all the serious things that I shall be thinking, and you will try to understand me - you will understand me - and will know how to distinguish
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my serious from my unserious, and will know that my un serious doesn't neces sarily mean my dis respect for what it is directed at even if it is directed at sentimental things. - Instead of Parrots we have little Jap. Spaniels (belong to the dancer) - here comes the mail boat. Good bye little girl - little woman of mine.
I love you - Wynne.
