February 10th, 1882

It,

Please stop with your miserable attempts at insults. They are depressing me.

You claim no one can love me and yet, the facts would suggest otherwise; and he may have asked for your hand, though I can speak with certainty when I say you are most assuredly the one who twisted his hand.

Society is what has given your alleged "husband" his wealth and that is likely the reason you latch onto him like the leech you are.

My time is not taken up by writing you and I can only offer my commendation that you write to me in pure hatred for I cannot lay claim to that feeling for you:

You are not worth any emotion from me, animal.

Yours,
Mr Benedict Bates