June 30th, 1888
Edric,
I do love you, I just don't like you right now. Fortunately my mother already thought I was some kind of ill before dinner last night, I'm just using that to my advantage to lay about all day. Ianthe is not pleased about being out in this, nor am I about opening the window for her. I thought she'd enjoy the buffet of bugs, but apparently not.
Oh no, I hope you're not getting old, how ever will you keep up with me, the wee babe?
Love,
Febs
Febs