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Brussels.

July 17th 1919.

My dearest Marion,

I cannot get off a line to you before an other day passes. They do slip by at such a pace. I was not at all well last night, and thought I was in for some trouble, how I did wish I could fly to you in some way, if I ever have the good fortune to get back, me for no more wandering - to day I feel better fortunately, and have been pitching in as usual. I think I cannot have taken cold Monday, when I went to the front, at Newport [[Nieuwpoort]] & Ostend, I wanted to 

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