Excuse this being typewritten, but I am supposed to lie in bed for a week or so and look at the ceiling. I objected somewhat to that regime as being drastic, so I am allowed two hours of work every day.
You were a peach throughout the whole trip and there isn’t a minute of it when I don’t think of you with all that old tenderness and with a consideration that I never understood that you had before. Because I can never remember anything else but consideration from you, so perhaps that sounds a little too much like a doctor or someone who knew yolu only when yolu were ill.
You are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, most beatiful person I have ever known, but even that is an understatement because the length that you went to there at the end would have tried anybody beyond endurance. Everything that I said and that we talked about during that time stands–I had a wire from daughter in regard to the little Vasser girl, telling me her name, and saying the whole affair was washed out, but I don’t feel at home with the business yet.
There was a sweet letter waiting here form you for me when I came. With dearest love.
Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda: The Love Letters of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, edited by Jackson R. Bryer and Cathy W. Barks, St. Martin’s Press, 2002.