“Nothing but letters?”
“I love writing letters. I write to my brother and sister in India.”
“But that is not the only thing?”
“Oh, no!”
“What else do you write then?”
“You’re growing a bit indiscreet, you know.”
“Nonsense!” he laughed back, as if he were quite within his right. “What is it? Literature?”
“Of course not! My diary.”
He laughed loudly and gaily:
“You keep a diary! What do you want with a diary? Your days are all exactly alike!”