He had placed a picture of her next to an oil lamp and each time he struck a match to light the lamp he looked at the picture and said, out loud, “Hello, you darling! Hello, Rita Bita Girl,” then lit the flame and started to write, imagining he was back in bed with her at Riverbank, stroking her hair, talking in baby talk. He fantasized about spanking her. “Do you miss your Biwy Boy, my darling? Have you been naughty? Do you need to be spanked? You little ‘imp.’ ” He said that was as far as he dared to go, with the censor reading every word, and promised that someday he would cable her “some
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