Boy, your letters are coming thru in fine style now, and quite fast. I know all about your trip to Bill’s and the doings of the Russells up to Dec. 2. It sure is good to read about what you do and the homey things our folks worry about. Makes me feel right at home. I wish I could tell you more of my activities and travels. I am no longer at Mme. Legrande’s or the large farm, you know. Seen a lot of France since then, tho, and as soon as my censorship ideals permit I will tell all. This part of France is not nearly as quaint as the section of Normandy we were in. The towns look feudal, ith drab clay houses—each with its big pump and dung pile out front. Chickens and cows roam at will down main streets. My French still serves me well and puts me in close contact with civilians—I can converse quite freely now and they don’t have to slow down for me as a rule. One trouble, tho, every time a civilian has a bone to pick, he gets me out of bed for it and I have to hear his tale of woe. Not being a civil affairs officer, all I can do is mumble “très difficile” and go back to sleep. My platoon is in fine shape, best boys you ever saw, and working smoother every day.
All my love, Hon,