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Francesca my darling,
You wouldn't think it but I have already been writing this letter for half an hour. And yesterday evening I couldn't even get this far.
Very shortly I shall be setting out to meet my darling wife … I keep thinking I am at Waterloo trying to pierce through the crowd of passengers coming. My goodness where are you? I hope you haven't missed the train. Surely by this time I should have caught a glimpse of you? If you had caught the train – Really it is terribly careless of you; I believe you have missed the train damn it! You might have known I wouldn't be able to bear it if you – Ah! – she hasn't missed
it! Bless her! my darling girl. My darling, darling girl. What a time it takes to get through this crowd. And even when I do I won't really be able to kiss her.
Darling this is hopeless. I can't stand it and I'm off to Waterloo. I ought to have got the Hoover out or gone and picked some raspberries or something. It's like waiting for school term to end. Or leave to come due at the front when a battle is on and you think you may get killed or, worse still, trip up and sprain your ankle and miss your turn that way. It's like, well, I suppose it's only like one thing on earth – meeting Francesca when she is your darling, darling wife.
There is nothing else like it. Only that. …