want to know exactly how dazzling that night was, how unforgettable and thrillfilled from start to finish. And, friend, make it a production because if it was one degree less than momentous, my Saturday night was just plain waste and I was indeed a sobbing, clinging, doting fool.

in spite of all the things I love about you!

But then if you don't see these things before I have to say them, perhaps you shouldn't call. Perhaps the phone should stand there silent, hour after hour, day after day, a week and now another. Easy to say, oh so easy to say but you'll go on looking at the thing and hating to leave the house for fear you'll miss its ring. And the long waiting's like that call tonight where neither says a word and we're connected only by miles of humming silence. And, in the terrible suspense, I wonder who'll hang up first

No, this will never do. You're not to be convinced this way. A little loneliness might do it but you've a high wall of handsomeness to protect you from that. I've known for pages this is a waste of time. You'll never see it. But how then can I tell you romance is made not huntand I pray between gritted teeth for ed for and found full bloom? And how just a word before the click, the hum. can I ever convince you that I like you

Smith

one

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