as I was on my way back to the City, going swiftly further away from you and our precious time together, I got to thinking. While on the train, seeing all kinds of little things, I wondered what those things meant to people. A tree in the middle of a field, that might've been part of a happy childhood memory. A sandy road next to the hobbly train tracks. Goats in a messy backyard.
And if those people regarded me, sitting there, what would they think of me? Or would they even notice?
I was obviously lonely without your inspiring company, lovely, but don't you think this bears some thinking, at least? It is really quite magnificent, what you think of when on a train.
Upon returning, I could not scrape together the courage to tell mother of our rendez-vous. She believes I went to visit Cecily. Father, I have told. I believe he was but barely conscious at the time, but nonetheless, I have told him. I am sorry, my dear. Please forgive me.
Alison has introduced me to the most charming of men at the Opera. He plays the part of 'Algernon' in that new play. Though I don't think you would have heard of it. Of course, in the play, he is perfectly shameless, but offstage, he is quite charming. I believe he should be a good match for Alison (of course she has implied of such relations between them, but I do not think he has already talked to her outside of the Opera).
I hope you are well, my love. Give my regards to Aunt Algeria, will you?
All my love,