Between visits I would often try to imagine myself proposing to Corry, and it sounded so awful that I knew ahead of time it was no use. Please marry me. I’ll be gone much of the time and I won’t be able to give you an address where you can write to me, and weeks will go by when I can’t get letters out to you, and though we’ll be in missionary work you’ll never be able to talk about the places and people we’re working with, and if one time I shouldn’t come back you’ll probably never know what happened. Add to that no foreseeable income, a room over a toolshed for a home—Corry was just too
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