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15, Whittington Terrace18th July, 1929
Darling, darling, I hardly know how to breathe for joy! To know that I shall see you, hear your dear voice, hold your hand again! He heard me singing in the kitchen this morning and asked what I was yowling about. I should have liked to tell him. Think of his face if I had said: "My lover is coming home and I am singing for joy! " I said meekly that I was sorry if it disturbed him, and he said in his courteous way that it didn't matter to him if I liked to hear the sound of my own voice, but the girl would probably think I was mad. I said I didn't care what the girl thought of me, and he answered: "That's just the trouble with you. You don't care. You're right up in the air. " So I am -- so I am! Right above the clouds, Petra darling, up in the golden sunlight, where nothing can touch me. He's quite right for once, if he did but know it.