“Why do men do these things?” my mother-in-law asked me last night.
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“Why do men do these things?” my mother-in-law asked me last night.
It’s a two-line note on a lined index card in which he says:
How charming to hear your pure little voice in the garden from my balcony. Such sweet notes, such tender vision.
Cordially yours, V.N.
That’s all he says. And I love it so much, because it’s a note that indicates that, even though they are separated only by a hundred yards of space and maybe a couple of minutes of walking down the stairs and delivering the message, in person, he wants to send it to her in writing so that she will have it as an object to keep and also as a token of his affection.