Goodbye, dearest love. I don't know where to tell you to write to me. To Paris perhaps, from where everything will be forwarded. I'll send a wire to the consulate as soon as I know that I'm leaving for Tunis. Be happy over there, and come back to me soon. You and I
are as one, and I kiss you with all my might.
Your charming Beaver.
From Letters to Sartre by Simone de Beauvoir, trans: Quintin Hoare, Hutchinson
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