16 April.
Yesterday being a fine day, I have caught cold. A bad look-out, executor, a bad look-out!
Adieu, cher ami.
You will observe a brief hiatus, he writes on 19 April, 1917. A letter begun to you on the 16th is reposing in my drawer at the department, where I have not been since then, having succumbed to an attack of bronchitis. And [my doctor] will not let me out till the 21st ("der Tag!") at the earliest.
Der Tag was reached . . .
21 April, 1917.
It was a comfort and a joy to read this morning that your party has arrived safely at Halifax. I propose to pass this bloudie day without any cheap philosophizing. I am about cured of my bronchitis, I think, though fearsomely weak; and, if I "be" to "be" carried off to-day, it'll be a motor-bus or -cab that'll do for me. Look out for a letter from me dated to-morrow. I hope the voyage has done you all the good in the world. . . .
. . . and survived.
22 April, 1917.
Ebbene, caro mio Stefano! You will be able
