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Conger Reynolds correspondence, August 1918
1918-08-22 Conger Reynolds to Daphne Reynolds Page 2
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I think of the bitter days of last winter and spring and of more soon to come I look upon it as a privilege to be gently toasted for once. The night is beautiful. Our grey old street wriggling its way uphill is a picture for a painter's eye with the moonlight silvering the buildings on one side and leaving the other in deep shadow. I should have taken a walk or sat in the garden. But instead I got into another bridge game. I played very well tonight, almost brilliantly in fact - until the last play. Then I laid down an ace on a trick my partner already had, spoiled a sure prospect of setting our opponents, and gave them the rubber. I didn't wait to see what would happen after that; I came on home before the room should become choked with flying cabbages and eggs and things. Still I think I showed progress. If I tried right hard I might be able to keep my oar in. We are joyous tonight over the news from Marshal Foch's latest whack. The glorious poilus are roaring through the Fritzies so fast we can hardly keep the pins on our map moved up to where the line is. Every time a new communiqué comes in we find we are so far behind we are hardly in the battle at all. Today the French pushed ahead nearly as far as they could have marched if there had been nothing at all to oppose them. And now they have
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I think of the bitter days of last winter and spring and of more soon to come I look upon it as a privilege to be gently toasted for once. The night is beautiful. Our grey old street wriggling its way uphill is a picture for a painter's eye with the moonlight silvering the buildings on one side and leaving the other in deep shadow. I should have taken a walk or sat in the garden. But instead I got into another bridge game. I played very well tonight, almost brilliantly in fact - until the last play. Then I laid down an ace on a trick my partner already had, spoiled a sure prospect of setting our opponents, and gave them the rubber. I didn't wait to see what would happen after that; I came on home before the room should become choked with flying cabbages and eggs and things. Still I think I showed progress. If I tried right hard I might be able to keep my oar in. We are joyous tonight over the news from Marshal Foch's latest whack. The glorious poilus are roaring through the Fritzies so fast we can hardly keep the pins on our map moved up to where the line is. Every time a new communiqué comes in we find we are so far behind we are hardly in the battle at all. Today the French pushed ahead nearly as far as they could have marched if there had been nothing at all to oppose them. And now they have
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