Dart begins, “Your letter of Sunday evening and that beautiful little poem you wrote Monday arrived today.  Ordinarily I wouldn’t write tonight, but the coincidence of our Sunday letters is amazing. I’ve kissed your lip marks till they’re almost worn off, my darling. You said you kissed the gardenia petals, so I kissed them, too, and it was like kissing your lips, your your cheeks, your neck, your breasts.”

He continues, “No wonder we were both so lonely Sunday. Each of us must have felt the other’s loneliness, thereby increasing his own. I felt both your nearness and your distance very keenly that day. When I put the kiss in the envelope, I hoped you’d kiss it. When you put the kiss in your envelope, probably at just the time I was doing the same, you must have felt as I did.”

For two pages he expounds on the wonders of their love. He feels deep pity for those who say that deep love is not possible. He is profoundly grateful that God has seen fit to place them together in such love. How gray the world must look to those who have not been blessed by the joys of a love such as theirs. Knowing you, loving you, having the supreme flattery of your unfailing loyalty and devotion, are the greatest gifts of my life. Good night, my darling, Sweetheart, my own dearest love. You are my highest waking thought, my deepest desire, the beautiful dream of my sleep.