When Dart writes this letter late at night, all he can think about is Dot. They were together such a short time that he can hardly believe she was in this very room with him just hours ago.

Now he’s terribly worried about her. He hopes she got a seat on the train. He hopes the train has made up some of its one-hour delay. He hopes she got some of the sleep she was counting on. He hopes she found a car with some women in it. Otherwise, she has learned first hand “how insulting, how utterly revolting a bunch of men in the uniforms that represent their country can be. …From now on, if there has to be another time when we separate, I hope it will be me who goes, instead of you. When I leave, I leave you with people who know you, love you, understand you, and can comfort you. I have no fear for your safety then, but I certainly do now. Please don’t cry all night, either.”

He’s taking secret joy in sleeping in “her” bed. He hopes it will make him feel even closer to her by occupying the bed she slept in while at his folks’ home.

He’s crushed that he hurt her when he spoke harshly to her about her torn ticket. He wished instantly that he’d kept his mouth shut. Can she forgive his thoughtlessness?

As he sits and stews about her safety and comfort and misses her joyful presence, he’s feeling as blue as if her were covered in dungaree cloth instead of skin. May he be excused to wallow? His Christmas wish for her is that the holiday be good enough to counteract the difficulty of the train trip.