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September 8, 1944

Everybody now thinks that this camp has reached its last days — we all feel like the old drama heroine tied to the tracks in front of an oncoming locomotive while the hero vainly tried to overcome the obstacles in his path in order to rescue her. Would this were a movie — alas, it is not. The next 60 days I believe will tell — I pray to stay here for rough as it might be we will be free far sooner than if we go north. If I were working daily I might think otherwise but doubt it. I want nothing so much as honorable freedom. It would be hell to have sweated this camp for this long and then get sent out — afraid we will, hope we won’t. ‘Two letters today both relating to DC and I learn “mortis”” is the answer — strangely enough it leaves me more relieved than anything else — I always hoped there could or would be a change for the better there, but I felt there never would be.

A few nights ago we were planning trips again; we have done this many times and our dream travels cover the earth. Wednesday night we planned one which I did hurriedly before, i.e., from England to cross to France and proceed to Paris, thence to Brussels, Antwerp and Rotterdam. Double back to Paris and thence travel to Metz, Verdun and then on to the east. The Rhone Valley must be nice too; as middies we never went to the South of France. I had hoped for better home censorship. I still hope there was a lot of discretion on that card. Loss of face irks me, the other does not. I judge an unsatisfactory answer between 12/13/44 – 1/6/44 (dates?). I wish some letters from home could give an indication of what we might expect when we get out of here. The bad blow would be to find that professionally we are through. For my part I am licked neither mentally nor morally. I still hope for 30 more years of active worthy service. I still think I have it — more self-confidence now at any rate and I think far more capability by this experience. Optimistic.