Sat. Aug 5 1944 11 p.m.

Dearest darling,

Here it is Sat evening of the fattest day of this year-- + as far as remember any other year-- It was 97° in the shade today-- as matter of fact when one went near the window the morning the shaft of heat felt the way one feels upon opening a hot oven door-- The world is our of-- doors [tourists] --Just returned from a walk with dear Bess - at Sheepshead Bay-- People all over--and I understand sleeping at the beaches. As for us, we spent the major part of the day under the [illegible]-- as everyone else on the block did. Dad had a few spells today-- which were upsetting--but I hope he gets fewer and fewer of them. So in effect, the activities of this day for me are primarily those to keep me, not as cool as possible but less hot. Now I can go on to where I left off at the end of last night's letter. I mentioned Hy last night. Well, he had come to take the car to his friend's place to test the radio. When I returned from Mom's it was quite late but he had waited. He told me the awful truth. The radio's ailment was its "life." None of its organs were ill but it wouldn't take the juice that the battery offered. What the technical trouble was, I fear, I am unable to repeat. But anyway Hy