569 Yonge St., Toronto, Ontario

My Dear Bill: -

I received two of your letters yesterday, and one today, and I really didn't expect to hear from you so soon, but I was hoping I would.

Eileen came down last night, so I couldn't answer your letters then, but I made up my mind that I'd answer them tonight no matter what happened.

I've been speaking to Jessie everyday this week, on the telephone, and I'm going over to Len's house to see her on Friday night. She's leaving for Winnipeg Friday at 12:05 am. She hasn't had a letter from Len yet, but she thinks he's sending them up to her house (Winnipeg.)

Your father came into the office today and told me that the "Sgt." wished to be remembered to me, and when I told him that I had received two letters from you (that was before I knew there was another one at home for me) he nearly fell over.

Panda is fine, but I don't call him that, I call him "Willy." Isn't that cute? I'm just crazy about him.

When I read your letter today I could have cried, because you certainly have got the right idea about the war. You know if all our fellows "over there" had the same idea you've got, the war would have been over long ago.

I miss you a lot Bill. When you were home I used to listen for the noise of your big boots on the floor above me. You know the days went so fast that I can't believe it true. I keep thinking it was all a dream.

I'm sorry that you don't like Halifax, because it must be hard on you to be so far away from home, and not like the place you're stationed at. If you liked it you could have a good time, and you know yourself, that when you're having a good time you don't think about anything. Here's hoping you like the "other side" better.

Everything's fine at the "Morque," but I still don't know why you call it that. I'm still crazy about my job, but I'm getting to dislike Mr. Baldwin more every day. We've had a lot of work to do lately (getting ready for the dinner) and I've worked late nearly every night this week. I really don't mind it though, because there isn't anything else to do.

Well, Bill, I've bit my nails, pulled out all my hair and smoked a package of cigarettes, and I can't, for the life of me, think any more to tell you. So I guess I'll close for now and I'll write again tomorrow.

Take good care of yourself and write soon because I love to (excuse please) hear from you.

Love Hilda