5They sat over coffee in a private room at the Flying Lobster, and Tommy Hambledon talked.
“Officially,” he said, “you are still with your regiment. You write to your people—how often?”
“About twice a week,” said Bill Saunders.
“You will probably be away about six weeks this time. If you will write twelve letters in advance, I will tell you where to send ’em and they will be posted in France on the right dates. How right and wise was the imposition of a rigid censorship, which makes all our letters insufferably anæmic anyway, even to our terms of endearment! ‘Hoping this strikes you in the pink, as it leaves me,’ you know. Got any use for terms of endearment, Bill?”
Bill blushed violently.
“Oh, lor’. Well, it doesn’t matter so long as you don’t tell her anything. You do understand, Ki
