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 Tracy A. Sugarman to his wife, postmarked February 9, 1945

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deep away from the fleeting fears there's been a certain assurance that the growth was *not* suddenly set in reverse. Hard as it is to define I feel confident that the growing has been consistent with the patterns of growth we adopted when we were together, Junie. The "specifics" are the last flowering, pooch - the blossom that crowns the planning, the struggling, the rejections and acceptance, the finality of growth. It will be one of the things that we'll see only when we're together and building more than the improvised structures we've had to content ourselves with in these lousy times. An architect can't show much design or finish [illegible] the shack he builds to hide ^in from the storm. It's what happens to his thinking, his feeling, his ability to respond and react while the storm's blowing its brains out that *is* important. I believe with all my heart that our growing has been parallel, Junie. The scattered fragments and fluid pattern that have shown through the millions of words words words we've written each other have been more than pretense or wish to please. They've shown that our desires have remained as compelling as ever before; our hopes as fervent, our dreams as challenging and delicious, our determination and resolution as firm. What channels will present themselves; what opportunities to harnass [sic] our beliefs into action, will be ours - those are

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 Tracy A. Sugarman to his wife, postmarked February 9, 1945

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  October 26, 2011
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