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[[underlined]] combien grande est notre joie! [[/underlined]] My husband has recieved news from Holland that his nephew is well and about to marry [[underlined]] unejeune fille Hollandaise [[/underlined]] !' 
[[underlined]] April 7th. [[/underlined]] Good Friday. Though fine and sunny we did hope that the day would pass quietly and allow the people their religious processions to worship undisturbed their Crucified God. But 'we'll  Good Friday you all with a vengeance!' seemed to be the order of the day. From ten o'clock on there was more bombing about Florence than ever before. We passed most of the day in the trench. 
The mimosa tree is in full bloom; its great yellow plummage waves over us in our trench; its scent mingles with that of the hyacinths. The innocent blue sky wafts away each tiny cloud-ship that should mar its perfection. Peace, a moment's illusion of peace.... Then from opposite directions come sounds of buzzing, growing louder and louder. Soon swarms of aeroplanes are crossing above our heads. From the near distance can be heard the heavy thud of falling bombs. 
[[underlined]] April 16th. [/underlined]] It is now some time since I have written. All is disorder. The alarms sound five to six times a day. As the weather is fine we remain most of the time in the garden. Everyone is expecting the 'second front' to attempt a landing somewhere near on the Italian sea-coast. In the meanwhile the Allies are sending as forerunners small, rapid and very efficacious aeroplanes that dive low. Our day gardener lives in a