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On the lost art of letter writing

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May 15, 1869

My dear Isabel, — Words cannot tell how horrified, terrified, petrified (everything ending with "fied," including all my sisters here saying "fie!" when they heard of it) I was when I found that I had carried off your ticket to Guildford. I enquired directly I got there whether ­anything could be done, but found you must have arrived in London some time before I got here. So there was nothing to be done but tear my hair (there is almost none left now), weep, and surrender myself to the police.

I do hope you didn’t suffer any inconvenience on account of my forgetfulness, but you see you would talk so all the way (though I begged you not) that you drove everything out of my head, including the very small portion of brain that is usually to be found there.

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Credits


Stuart Dodgson Collingwood


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