Edith stopped, a few steps from his form and frowned deeply. What on earth was he talking about, letters? "Truthfully, I do not know what you speak of, Thomas," she said. "What letters, exactly?" She couldn't even think about what letters he would have. There was nobody to write to now that they were isolated. She had rejoiced at the absence of snowfall but he was all the more cold for it. Yesterday morning, all of the day, had been so wonderful.