August 20th, 1942

Dear Steve,

Nice to finally hear from you, little punk. Little or not, that's still gonna be your nickname even if I'm now suddenly the shortest in the group thanks to this program. Next time you leave, at least leave a proper note, for goodness sakes!

Nothing much has changed. Still working my fingers to the bone with a needle and thread day and night. Some of my clients still look at me like I'm dirt on the bottom of their shoes even when I'm fitting them. Not a wise move when the person you're doing it to is someone holding a pin and needle so close to your skin.

Lydia is going through a bit of a patch lately as I'm sure she's writing to you. In the hospital, she's the one assigned to giving out bad news to families, which really hits close to home for her since some of them are those hurt by the war. But she's gonna be alright so long as you are, right? So just stay alive, okay?

Tell you what, every fight you get its going to equal to a day of me ignoring you when you get back. Okay, I'm almost out of ink now-it's almost hard to come by these days. Write back soon, little punk!

(P.S., Next time you decide to go and get experimented on, I'm going to whack you in the head until that common sense part of your brain is working again. Honestly! Sometimes I wonder if you're trying to die!)

Love,
Dorothy