Sunday Morning

Oct. 8, 1944

Dear Ken,

Just finished reading the SF Chronicle and the home news is of course the death of Willkie. It seems that he made a sudden turn for the worse yesterday and passed away very quickly.

Gee, but it’s quiet around here. Mrs. Mills, the little old lady upstairs, has gone to a rest home out on Laguna Street for a couple of weeks and I miss her footsteps overhead. It’s peculiar how one becomes accustomed to a certain ritual or a familiar sound and how that can be missed when it stops occurring. It’s just like the big green chair in Berkeley, which I hated to leave because you sat in it and there were definite memories connected there. Although I feel at home here, there is nothing sentimental here, and I miss you, Darling!

If nothing else turns up this afternoon, I shall walk down to a show at 15^th and Irving Sts. Way up here on the hill, I feel so isolated even though I have a telephone; haven’t had a call all weekend and as sure as I walk out the thing will ring all afternoon! Sorry to have missed Hoffman because there are several questions I’d like to ask him about you! It may seem odd, but I have refrained from asking the other visitors much about you—knowing that they had seen recently was encouraging in one respect, on the other hand, they had been with you so recently that I may have broken down in tears. Understand? I love you.