Dart’s writes one heck of an 12-page letter today, most of which I will not share. It covers a long and detailed description of his American lit test, as well as Dart’s assessment of the professor, a philosophical diatribe as to what makes a poet “great,” as opposed to simply “important,” and an elaborated system of guesses about how he performed of this test. I think I may have dozed off in the middle of those pages.

It then moves to a wordy and repetitive dissertation of the concepts of “right vs wrong” and “good vs bad.”  I must admit, I couldn’t follow it to its conclusion, so I don’t feel qualified to comment on it here.

At long last, the final page turned more toward the sort of talk that I suspect young Dot loved to read. “It gives me nice little chills when you write of buying things for us. Thanks for the $5.00. Next time I go to the bank, I’ll drop it in. Just thinking about snuggling up together to caress each other for an hour or so before we go to sleep gives me butterflies, too. Gee, it almost seems that I’ve been whispering this tonight, and now that we’re all talked out, we can lie back and enjoy ourselves.”