perhaps, but for Jerusha Abbott--Oh, my!
I've been reading the English classics.)
rugs and carrying wood, grumbles if you suggest such a thing. I remain,
PS. I know I'm not to expect any letters in return, and I've it is--just about the tiny little things that happened every day.
It's Sunday night now, about eleven o'clock, Yours always, away was not because I didn't care for him, but because I cared