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[1944]

Sunday Jan. 9. 1943

Dear Hedda, now it's morning and, as usual in the first few days of any of my residences, the room is clean & in order Maybe it'll last because the landlady is an old maid, about 60 [[strikethrough]] o [[/strikethrough]] living only with her mother or maybe she's the grandmother, looks like being well over 100 years old - Today is Sunday so breakfast was at 9 o'clock, I have to travel quit a distance to the Navy mess because in town is nothing to eat, everything is rationed and the food on the words of the local population is "infect" and they are not kidding - The wine is still good thou - last night I saw a child smoking a cigarette, he was really too small, about 5 or 6 looked like so I told him you too young for cigarettes. He told me "c'est la guerre!" - and that demoralized me because I don't care for children being too smart - I was smart myself, a spirt - It's cold and I'm writing you with heavy jacket I started this morning a drawing for you, an anniversary drawing but maybe it'll come something else, I started pasting colored paper and labels, you'll see it if I'll send it. My idea about you now is let say cristalized or so I mean I'll see you when I want