"It's
a quiet Sunday evening -- not much different from one at home. We're sitting around the girls' apartment
downstairs reading and writing letters after eating popcorn and popcorn
balls. The party is waiting for a banana
pie which Ruth cooked up a while ago.
The pie has to cool enough for eating -- it was sort of runny at the
last attempt."
--Letter
from my father, Washington, D.C., to his family, Bloomington, Kans., Sunday,
March 31, 1946.
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