On the lost art of letter writing
Open book
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On the lost art of letter writing
Open bookMy Dear Child,
It's been so frightfully hot here that been almost too weak to hold a pen, and even if I had been able, there was no ink — it had all evaporated into a cloud of black steam, and in that state it has been floating about the room, inking the walls and ceiling; till they're hardly fit to be seen: to-day it is cooler, and a little has come back into the ink-bottle in the form of black snow — there will soon be enough for me to write and order those photographs your Mamma wants.
You can pick up from where you left off the last time, or start at the beginning. Do you want to:
ResumeStuart Dodgson Collingwood