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Conger Reynolds correspondence, May 1918
1918-05-17 Conger Reynolds to Daphe Reynolds Page 1
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Seventy-nine. Friday night, May 17, 1918. My dearest Wif, - Six lieutenants were sitting in a pretty garden this even under the paling sky and the fresh moon. They were smoking their after-dinner segars and between puffs chording on the strains of "It's a long, long trail." The sound of footsteps was heard on the cinder path. Out of the darkness under the trees emerged the big hulk of Sergeant Beakey. At the regulation distance he halted, clicked his heels and saluted. "Letters, sir," he said,
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Seventy-nine. Friday night, May 17, 1918. My dearest Wif, - Six lieutenants were sitting in a pretty garden this even under the paling sky and the fresh moon. They were smoking their after-dinner segars and between puffs chording on the strains of "It's a long, long trail." The sound of footsteps was heard on the cinder path. Out of the darkness under the trees emerged the big hulk of Sergeant Beakey. At the regulation distance he halted, clicked his heels and saluted. "Letters, sir," he said,
World War I Diaries and Letters
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