April 4th, 1925

Betty dearest,

I am dog tired. We have been walking almost all day, and my feet are dreadfully sore. The charm of the plains evaporated after the first blister appeared. 

Everyone is in great humor. They have laid foods out for us for meals, and tents set up before we reach tonight's rest. I haven't the energy to write more, but nothing much beyond walking has happened. 



PS- Moza, the traitor, seems perfectly fine.

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