As to the picture I sent you, why, surely I have a moustache, and not a “morning pout.” _Mechante._ A long moustache I have (illustration of moustache) _comme ca_. Also, I have thick hair which stands up (illustration) _comme ci_. I had my head shaved last November, you know, and it had a good effect. My letter is thrilling, isn’t it, with all these martial details? A veritable cross-section of battle, a flower from No Man’s Land. Well, I am sending some battling picture-postcards soon which you will find amusing, I think--portraits, in two striking histrionic poses, of myself. You know now, from my previous letters, that I am no longer (I thank God!) doing statistics, so gently, but widely and most firmly, correct the statement that I have a bullet-proof job. I had one, but succeeded, after two months’ intriguing, in getting rid of it. It wasn’t a shell-proof job--nothing in a real regiment is. (Such jobs are in the Ordnance or Supply Departments, back of the lines.) It wasn’t shell-proof, I say, and if I should be squashed by a shell, wouldn’t you hate to have it said that I was nobly holding my post in the office, or bravely manning my typewriter? Now, I’m doing work I love--and work you may be proud of. None of the drudgery of soldiering, but a double share of glory and thrills. But it is not so glorious and thrilling as you. JOYCE. * * * * * May 24, 1918. Dear Aline: