He has kept the previous letter, and the new one joins it immediately. He keeps them over his heart, in an inside pocket. They are more free, here, even if Tommy is often under house arrest, not allowed to participate in the plays and games of sport they put on. An extra dimension of prison- but he's glad to suffer it.
He does send her the rest of Anna Karenina, and he's written along the upper marges of good number of the pages.
My dearest Nina,
It gives me some pleasure to write along these pages, not knowing what's written in them. Perhaps I am making serious declarations next to a scene that is supposed to be funny, or I am talking of love when the story talks of war. I'm not a literary man, but I'm sure it would be some kind of irony.
I am entertained. Your correspondence keeps me entertained most of all: I have read your letter so often that the paper already has creases in it that I can see through. Please, if you can: write my anything you like, poetry, anything. Let me reread those things as often as I can.
Tell me how you came to be a spy? Tell me how you managed to hide that you aren't a Bolshevik? I won't tell Freddie, because I have no way of talking to my men. They're all still in the same camp as you, because I took responsibility for it all.
Tell me what your life was like, before Bolsheviks and war and prison came into it. I'll tell you too, if you want, in return.
no subject
He does send her the rest of Anna Karenina, and he's written along the upper marges of good number of the pages.
My dearest Nina,
It gives me some pleasure to write along these pages, not knowing what's written in them. Perhaps I am making serious declarations next to a scene that is supposed to be funny, or I am talking of love when the story talks of war. I'm not a literary man, but I'm sure it would be some kind of irony.
I am entertained. Your correspondence keeps me entertained most of all: I have read your letter so often that the paper already has creases in it that I can see through. Please, if you can: write my anything you like, poetry, anything. Let me reread those things as often as I can.
Tell me how you came to be a spy? Tell me how you managed to hide that you aren't a Bolshevik? I won't tell Freddie, because I have no way of talking to my men. They're all still in the same camp as you, because I took responsibility for it all.
Tell me what your life was like, before Bolsheviks and war and prison came into it. I'll tell you too, if you want, in return.
Be safe, Nina.
All my love,
Tommy