Dearest Kitty, Heaps of things have happened, but I often think I'm boring you with my dreary chitchat and that you'd just as soon have fewer letters.
So I'll keep the news brief. Mr. Voskuijl wasn't operated on for his ulcer after all.
Once the doctors had him on the operating table and opened him up,
they saw that he had cancer. It was in such an advanced stage that an operation was pointless. So they stitched him up again,
kept him in the hospital for three weeks, fed him well and sent him back home.
But they made an unforgivable error: they told the poor man exactly what was in store.
He can't work anymore, and he's just sitting at home, surrounded by his eight children, brooding about his approaching death.
I feel very sorry for him and hate not being able to go out; otherwise, I'd visit him as often as I could and help take his mind off matters.
Now the good man can no longer let us know what's being said and done in the warehouse, which is a disaster for us.
Mr. Voskuijl was our greatest source of help and support when it came to safety measures. We miss him very much.
Next month it's our turn to hand over our radio to the authorities.
Mr. Kleiman has a small set hidden in his home that he's giving us to replace our beautiful radio.
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