October 31, 1911 (Frank to Laura)

to: Laura Dawson
Sunshine Resorts
Havana, Cuba

From: Frank Thomas
Room 816, The Wistoria
New York, NY

My Darling,

I find myself forced to break two promises - promises that I had intended to keep - and I'm feeling aweful about it.

The first breach of my word is, of course, this letter. Believe me, I'm loathe to disturb your vacation. I hadn't intended to write a word to you until I had finished with this whole damn thing and thrown in the social club towel and all (and I swear tha day will coe as soon as I can make it, my darling - I hope the appearance of this letter did not get your hopes up). But I am desperate. I need your help.

Which brings me to my second breach of promise: A certain night on a steamliner to New York - a night that I swore never to bring up again - you told me many things. But I won't pain you by bringing up any but the pertinant one: you told me that you had certain information that, if shared with the right parties, would mean the destruction of the woman parading herself around as Madame 4.

My Dear, I need that information. It may be a matter of life and death.

Think of how I helped smooth over that unfortunate incident with the letter to Wilkinson's girl. Think of how I helped arrange your graceful exit from our social club. Think of my hand on the small of your back as we leaned against the railing and watched the moon reflected in the immeasurable sea. I know you cannot fail me in my time of need.

Please, send word by Tuesday (it must be by Tuesday) and I swear you shan't hear from me agin until I hae organized my own graceful exit.

In anticipation of that glorious day,
Frank

ps. I won't send you kisses, or chocolate or roses. You get enough of those from your adoring fans. Instead I send you a shoulder to rest your head on, a shot of brandy (which you might need after reading this) and a humble appology for my broken promises.

Date Unknown (Conrad to Henry)

(Urgent) Telegram:
Henry Wilkinson

London, England

Father [stop] Please send money [stop] But dont worry I havent spent it all yet [stop] Conrad

7 Nov 1911 (Mr. Five to Henry)

To: Henry Wilkinson
Houses of Parliament
London, England

From the Desk of Mr. Five

Dear Henry,

Don't assume, pleas, sir, that my reversion to your christian name implies any intent to a corresponding familiarity. I was merely so surprised at the destructive powers you credit me with - tabletops, hearts, perhaps a pair of irrevocably tea-stained trousers? Goodness, Mr. Wilkinson, is there anything you would consider beyond my corrosive influence? Aside from your impeccable politics and uncorruptable moral fiber, that is.

Oh, and your handsome son with the pretty hair. Such a touching paternal impulse you attribute to me, Henry. And a faultless memory to go with my capacity to dismantle and undo. If I were half the man you seem to think me, I would surely not have to worry about unsettling subversive punishments, for I would even now have all of England under my thumb, and perhaps my adopted nation as well.

Nonetheless, as things stand, I am delighted that you have kept a careful record of your political correspondance. I hope you have also retained various missives from your last campaign - such as energetic, proactive tone you took in them. Its the sort of thing one feels a positive obligation to persue for posterity. I have never ceased to admire your utter creativity in public life, Henry, but there are those who may not share my admiration. But look - I ave gotten familiar despite myself. Well, rest assured that you will upset my intentions only as far as the point of my pen, and never when it comes to my duty. I only hope you will fufill your obligations with so much commitment

I trust this letter has caused no more damage to your internal organs, and, in this trust, I offer you nothing to repair them and therefore sign,

Sincerely yours,
Alphonse

Editors Note: sincere means without glue, etymologically (sp?) speaking - although other editor was always told it means without wax

Unknown Date (Conrad to Billy T)

Billy T -

I would be happy to accept your invitation to a tour of Central Park. However, I must confess I already spent a great deal of time in the park earlier this week with a new acquaintance and his sister. We even went on a carriage ride around to the Plaza Hotel.

Perhaps you will be kind enough to show me around Wall Street and the Business District.

In any case, I should love to see you again, your company is always welcome.

-Conrad

14 November 1911 (Peter to Tom)

A Package

From: P. Strandman
Oxford College
Oxford

To: Thomas Alden
Green Pastures Rest Home for the Criminally Insane
Greenfield, England

Tom,

Hope this finds you well. He's not bad for an American.

Dr. Strandman

P.S. Did the boat have a name?

Enclosed: Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, with rough edges and the inscription, "Poetry to help the nightmares."

10 November 1911 (Peter tp Tom)

To: Thomas Alden
Green Pastures Rest Home for the Criminally Insane
Greenfield, England

Dear Tom,

First, please forgive me for taking so long a time to respond to your letters. The first arrived during a busy part of term and I wanted to wait to give it--and its brother which arrived soon after-- my full attention. As you may recall, I dislike poor responses almost more than no response at all.

You credit me with being both a nation and the "whole ocean." Forgoing any indignation at your impugning my girth OR stature--both of which are dwarfed by your own, if you recall--I would urge you to think of your own strengths rather than looking still to others, be it Conrad or even myself. You are strong, Tom, not weak. Never weak, never fragile. That is one of my clearest memories of you. Discussing your thesis in my study late in a winter that seems so close to now, and yet also (and no doubt more so to you) so far away. You were afraid, and young, almost innocent (if you pardon an old man his memories and beliefs and take what comfort you can in it), but it was fear that matured your youth and strengthened it; the way fire tempers iron and forges steel.

There is steel in you, Tom. I know you feel lost in the cold Eastern wind of hope, but do not forget: it may be bitter, but it is still hope. May it sustain you, and may I continue to give, however small, a portion of it.

I am sorry that your dream pains you; yet I cannot be sorry that you still think of me.

Never fear that you have too many questions; as I told you while at school: some answers are less important than the questions which drive them. Do not stop questioning, Tom. It will keep you young.

I will, as always, merely guide the process.

Your mentor,
Peter Strandman

Unknown Date (Conrad to Alice Mae)

Dear Alice Mae,

I haven't really got much time to write. There is so much to do in a city as big as New York, not to mention trips out of the city to my new friend's country houses, or, what they call them "weekend retreats"-- large mansions and estates along the Hudson or Long Island.

Tell Mother I am well and have written to Father to say the same.

Lovingly your brother,
Conrad

Unknown Date (Conrad to Marjorie)

Dear Marjorie,

Put your heart at rest, I am both well and happy, merely late in my correspondances because of all the activity here, and also the post here in New York is nothing like the post in England, letters keep getting sent to me late. I had a few from Cousin Ned recently, but I know he is in New York--I see him nearly every day--and the letters were postmarked from September and from Paris.

Ned was quite put out that I hadn't received the letters on time, but he says that hardly matters anymore--Parisian girls hold nothing to New Yorkers (and, my dear, the New York girls hold nothing to you.)

There is too much to say in letters. Dear Marjorie, I am afraid I shall forget to tell you of the important things while only telling you trivial matters. I have accepted an invitation to take a tour with Billy T. I really do miss playing cards with him, in the new social clubs here, I lose more than when I played on the boat. I say, I do believe that many of the Yankees cheat--but I cannot complain, they do treat me as a gentleman.

I shall write again when I can, I really haven't even had a moment to write to anyone at all.

Tell your mother hello, and I do hope she's feeling better. Her letter, that you enclosed earlier, was... interesting to read.

--Conrad

November 7, 1911 (Mr. Five to Frank)

To: The Gentleman of Room 816
The Wistoria
New York, NY

From the Desk of Mr. Five

Dear Frank,

I swear, if you don't hear from that prancing young colt, I shall be sorely tempted to break down his door and skewer him, groin to neck-knobs, with the splintering pieces.

Forgive my tone. I have received today a rather upsetting letter. I - well, let me just say that I do believe the target shall remain so to me, whatever his standing in the Social Club.

Dear God, who would have thought the rotting bastard could unsettle me so? I say this, of course, only because I know you are a friend.

Speaking of rotters, I hear that Mme 4 was subject to a rather startling act of vandlism recently. She won't reveal the details, but I bribed her chambermaid, and what a ripe tale that was.

In any case, keep me posted, and remain poised to act.

Best Regards,
Mr. Five

unknown date (Tom to Peter)

Dear Dr. Strandman,

There was a passage, the last time I saw you; do you remember? You asked me to critique it and I didn't; I didn't show up to class at all. And it's funny how passage can refer to that, to a grouping of words that might lead you nowhere. I uppose you would object to that. You objected to any piece of shoddy comparison. You were right to object. I understand that now.

Look here, it's not as though I was even any good at literature. You know that. I liked it but I wasn't any good. You told me so yourself, never with words, just... you told me, whether you know it or not. I'm not angry. It doesn't matter. But you did.

I sound petulant. There were so many things I didn't want to do in this letter, so many things I didn't want to sound like. I guess I never figured out what I do want to sound like. I'm not going to write you anymore, after this. It's not right, and I shouldn't do it. You are not my safety net, nor my anchor, god [sic] knows. And that's pretentious, spelling god without the captial G. I know you will think it's pretentions and you're right. Tom Alden always asked too much of me, and had pretensions (I am imagining what you might say, might think, reading this. Mostly what you might say. I cannot handle thoughts, not yours and not my own.) Tom thought he was clever, but he wasn't. Tom thought he was much, much more fragile and frightened than he truly was. Tom was basically an an ass--

No, you wouldn't think that. I'm mixing us up again, and I should certainly not be mixed up with you. Do you know what this is like, being here? It's like bleeding. I mean, it's like if you were bleeding for a long time and [word crossed-out] you knew you were bleeding and everyone else knew too, but it wasn't necessarily threatening you life, or anything... well, my point is, in that case, you would just want to say, I'm bleeding, I'm bleeding, because it would hurt and it would constantly... be there, with you. But everyone else would probably have enough of all this bleeding right quick, and want you to talk about something else. Bad metaphor... simile.

I had a dream. I was on a boat with you, and it was your boat. You had build it yourself--don't laugh--made it out of wood, and it was sanded and shiny and fine. We just sat on the boat while it rocked in the water. That was the whole dream. You know, I've been having nightmares for a long time; they're one of my top symptoms in fact, but I'd rather have a hundred nightmares than have that dream again.

Gee, I sound miserable, don't I? I don't even know how to write to you. You are so far from Conrad, you were right about that. You're a completely different nation. And I just... wanted to tell you that. Fly up your flag, Peter Strandman, because Conrad is really just a broken shell, and you're the thole goddamn ocean.

Mixed metaphors there. I've learned something, see? But this whole letter is questions. I didn't mean to make it questions.

Tom Alden

October 31, 1911 (Mme. 4 to Frank)

To: The Gentleman of Room 816
The Wistoria
New York, NY

Frank,

I have done with games. And fish. If you come to dinner Tuesday next, i expect there will be heartier fare. Or, you may simply follow orders and keep your nose out of other people's bedsheets.

You seem to have the needling temper of a woman, but I doubt you have a woman's patience. Will I see you at dinner?

Mme 4

3 November, 1911 (Henry to Mr. Five)

To: The Desk of Mr. Five
By Special Courier
New York, N.Y.
USA

Darling Alphonse,

It was with as much heartbreak as disbelief that I first realized the identity of the author of your recent correspondance, as I recall an hour many years ago in the lake district when you destroyed my Uncle's tea table and swore to have no further communication with me. You spilled Darjeeling down my right pantleg. No Alphie, I certainly have not forgotten you.

But let's not open old wounds. If by "business-related matters" you are referring to a series of communications emanating "from the desk of Mr. Three" concerning the recent vote in the House of Commons concerning the Power of the House of Lords in connection with thinly-veiled promises of significant amounts of cash, don't worry. I've kept each communication in a safe place. Do you know the punishment the law provides us for the consipiracy to corrupt and subvert His Majesty's government? A fascinating law upheld twice in the House of Lords- a subject of great interest of yours, I believe?

I am delighted to hear you've run across my son in New York. They say sons turn out just like their fathers, and in that respect Connie has turned out as expected... he has the darkest black hair with a slight curl-- just as I used to! Do you remember, Alphie?

Thank you, Dear Alphonse, for writing, and for your kind wishes. My public affairs are all matters of state and beyond reproach, and my private affairs are all that you see before you in New York. Watch after him well. Those who live in glass houses...

With Affection,
Henry

October 30, 1911 (Frank to Mme. 4)

To: Mme. Four
To be delivered by hand
and left discretely under her pillow

Madame,

I can't imagine what you are trying to say. Has Trevor ruthlessly educated Edgar for your benefit? I think not. When Truth will out, will it out you, or do you expect it to out me? And Oscar may need eggs, but he does not need yours. Count again. Frank opens undisclosed research.

Do not provoke me any more, Madame.

--Frank

P.S. Thank you for the anchovies. They were lovely. They were so tasty in fact that it would be a shame to keep them all to myself. Please find enclosed three anchovies of the highest quality.

October 30, 1911 (Mme. 4 to Frank)

To: The Gentleman of Room 816
The Wistoria
New York, NY


Dear Frank,

You seem a bit agitated. Overheated or maybe just overworked. In consideration of your state of mind, I will keep this letter brief and to the point: Trevor has ruthlessly educated Edgar. Truth will out. Oscar needs eggs.

Good day, and please enjoy this fine jar of anchovies with the compliments of

Mme. 4

27 Oct. 1911 (Mr. Five to Henry)

To: Mr. Wilkinson
Houses of Parliament
London
England

From: The Desk of Mr. Five

Dear Mr. Wilkinson,

It has been some years since I have had the pleasure of your company, but I trust you have not forgotten me. I know we have corresponded on more business-related matters, but I wanted to touch base on a personal level.

I have seen your son. He looks like you, though not in the unsettling manner of some families. He has turned out just exactly as I expected. Would you say the same?

A fine lad, though, and certainly does not seem a coward. I imagine he could charm his way out of most trouble, from what I have [seen] observed.

I hope all is well with you, in both your public and your private affairs. Of course, those two are rarely so separate as they seem.

Cordially Yours,
Alphonse

October 25, 1911 (Frank to Mme. 4)

To: Mme Four
[Under some rock from which she never should have crawled]
An undisclosed location
To be delivered by hand

From: The Gentleman of Room 816
The Wistoria
New York, NY

Dear Madame,

I was appalled to receive your communication. I would hate to be thought remiss in any of my duties; therefore let me give you a detailed account of all interaction between Mr. Five and myself. I wrote him upon arriving in New York to tell him of the progress of our venture. He replied asking me to keep him posted. This afternoon I did keep him posted with a short note delivered by hand. I think I once told him I liked his hat. He was pleased. Is there anything else you would like to know? What I ate for breakfast maybe? Or the color of the tie I bought my uncle for his birthday tomorrow? How about what time I got up this morning? It was 6:35.

Your intrusion was useless, and I trust you understand that future intrusions will be fruitless as well. I burn all my blotting paper.

Yours, with most humble esteem and affection,
Frank

PS If you dared charge that pickled herring to my room I will get you one way or another. You know I can.


Editor's Note: In this and all cases brackets [] indicate crossed out text.

October 25, 1911 (Frank to Mr. Five)

To: Mr. Five
An undisclosed location
To be delivered by hand

From: The gentleman of Room 816
The Wistoria
New York, NY

Dear Sir,

The trap is set. I've dangled the bait. Let's see if this fish bites.

Frank

October, 1911 (Mme. 4 to Frank)

To: The Gentleman of Room 816
The Wistoria
New York, NY

Frank,

I understand that you have been in communication with Mr. Five. This is appropriate, as he is your direct superior. From this point forward, however, I would like you to provide me with copies, in your own hand, of all correspondance that passes between you. This is nothing to be alarmed about, and I must emphasize that you are still bound to follow any and all directives of Mr. Five with regards to Le Sal Affaire. Nonetheless, I would appreciate it if you would let our communication remain a secret between us. I also wish to tell you that the pickled herring was delicious.

Sincerely yours,
Mme. Four

October, 1911 (Mr. Five to Frank)

To: The Gentleman of Room 816
The Wistoria
New York, New York

Dear Frank,

It is with most sincere apologies that my reply comes so late. Naturally there is an explanation, the details of which I am not at liberty to divulge at present. Suffice it to say that I have serious concerns about the state of mind of a certain heavenly personage. I believe the matter is now under control, but, my dear sir, you must understand that I live in constant expectation of the need for more drastic measures. Please inform Roger to be vigilant at all times and always prepared for swift, decisive action.

Given the way the wind blows in our Social Club at the moment, anything less may be drastically misconstrued. [I tell you Frank it is damnable]

I pray you, do not follow my example, but rather reply as soon as you can regarding our Target, and the latest events. Has the weather been good? What of Laura? I hope your news is pleasant. So far, I am sorry to report, it seems that Le Sal Affaire has had no effect whatsoever on the Progenitor. Nonetheless, he has always been an extremely private individual, and naturally my information about his doings is not firsthand.

We may yet succeed, but we must all be prepared for the things success will require of us.

In the hope that you are forwarned and forarmed,
I remain -
Mr. Five

October, 1911 (Frank to Mr. Five)

To: Mr Five
An undisclosed Location
To be delivered By Hand

From: The gentleman of room 816
The Wistoria
New York, NY

Dear Sir,

As per your request I am writing to inform you of the progress of le sal affaire. Proceedings got off to a good start. On the boat the Target was easily recognizable from your invaluable description and Joe and I made friends with him quickly. For an Englishman I must say he is exceedingly bad at Bridge and for the first half of the voyage our biggest problem was to insure that he kept winning. But you know what they say: Bad with the cards, good with the ladies, and Laura had no trouble seducing the young man. Our first real trouble came directly after that for I think our young gentleman is too good with the ladies. I don't know if Laura pitied the man, or was perhaps simply jealous of his previous attachments, but in an uncharacteristic moment of weakness she wrote to the fiancee back in England, intimating that the gentleman was not entirely trustworthy. Alerted too late of this catastrophe to intercept the missive before it was carried away on the mailboat, I moved quickly to control the damage. Luckily, Roger was already placed in New York in anticipation of his coming role, and a telegram to him was all that was needed to insure that a defamation of Laura's character reaches the girl in question. Hopefully the girl will think Laura's denunciation the mendatious machination of an American Female and nothing more . . . specific. The last thing we need is anyone in England wise to what we are doing, even if it is just some silly country sweetheart. In the meantime, let us hope that our other Light Wench keeps Ned busy in France, allowing Roger to work in peace. Rest assured that I have given Laura a good talking to. I think I can promise you that such a transgression on her part will not occur again.

Part two of L'affaire is poised to take place Monday afternoon, weather permitting. I will send more information as it produces itself.

Your servant,
Frank

October 25, 1911 (Billy T to Conrad)

To:
Conrad Wilkinson
443 5th Avenue
Apt. 34B
New York, NY

From:
William Trebeau
Room 816
The Wistoria
New York, NY
__________________________________________________________________________________________

My Dear Sir,

Seeing as it's been a few weeks since I've had the pleasure of playing bridge with you, I thought I'd send a quick note to see how you were getting along in this great Metropolis of ours, and to renew my offer of any assistance or advice you might need aclimatizing yourself to your new city. Drop my name at any of the finer gentleman's clubs on the island, and you'll be sure to get the best table.

It's important, before the weather turns too cold, to take advantage of all that a summer and autumn New York has to offer. Please allow me the honor of showing you around some of the nicer parts of our Central Park - no, no, old chap, it would be my pleasure. We can't let a foreigner like you miss out on our folliage due to lack of a tourguide. How does Monday sound? Maybe around two o'clock?

Drop me a note at my room at the Wistoria.

Humbly yours,

Billy T-

October 23, 1911 (New York Ned to Conrad)

Conrad -

I stopped by to show you my latest article in the Gazette. Thought it might interest you.

Send it on to your father if you get a chance. He'd get a kick out of it.

See you around,

Ned


_______________________________________________________________________________________

The New York Gazette -Oct. 22, 1911

English Politician Stands Up to Feudal System
by Ned Devine

Three cheers for Henry Wilkenson, an English Member of Perliment who cast one of the deciding votes in the recently passed Parliment Act. The Parliment Act reduces the power of the House of Lords, that musty bastion of hereditary rule. This unexpected progressive act from a politician who ran on such a conservative ticked should be applauded even on this side of the Atlantic. However, one wonders how Mr. Wilkenson's fellow countrymen feel about his sudden lean to the left.

On an unrelated note this worthy politician's son, Conrad Wilkenson, as recently arrrived in New York and has been seen about town and at several important social functions. Give him a clap on the back for his old dad!


___________________________________________________________________
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unknown date (Tom to Conrad)

Dear Connie,

Well, old boy, you must be having a fine time in New York judging by your neglect of you faithful correspondants. I dont refer to myself, of course, but your Marjorie was down to see me Sunday last, and I gather you havent been much in contact with her wither. She looked frosty and she wore a hat with pink rosebuds. She said you bought it for her. When I say she looked frosty, I mean mostly that she made a special effort to smile and seem warm, and all the while you could feel a slow freeze creeping along underneath the skin. God, I hate that Connie, but you probably find it splendid.

She didn't come straight out and say she hadn't heard from you. She went though verbal gymnastics asking how I was, and then sort of dropped in had I heard from you lately. I said sure, twice a week, that you'd gotten hold of the governer's letterhead in your adventures and the whole thing was drenched in perfume. She almost believed me, for perhaps a minute or so, and that's how I knew you hadn't written her either. She never really said so, but she got all teary-eyed and said we must be partners in adversity, and she patted my hand like I was some 70-year old woman, Connie. Goddamnit, sometimes I quite hate her. i asked if she'd be bringing down her bags to stay, then, and her mouth became quite, quite tight, and soon after she left.

Everything's getting clearer and clearer to me Connie. Being here is like climbing a very high maountain. Your hands get all scraped and bloody and it's rather hard to breathe, but you know that any minute now you will break through and the view will be so clear, as clear as the air you cant-quite-breathe in properly. Or else you'll die, and the other's in your party will have to eat you up.

The other's in my party would be you Connie. I remember that much. Not that I blame you. I've never blamed you. People dont much, do they? it must make for an interesting life. Perhaps you really did buy that hat for Marjorie after all. I'd thought until just now she was lying, but perhaps if one is the kind of person who isnt blamed for anything one can afford to buy girls hats with pink rosebuds and then go on sprees and not write to them with a clear conscience. Clear as that mountain air. Transparent, Connie. I can see you with a transparent conscience, it suits you quite as well as that tailored tan coat.

Do you still have that? I know it;s probably not the Fashion in New York, but I've always imagined you wearing it to my funeral someday. you always look so pale at my funeral. It's flattering really. I should thank you in advance for your pallor at my funeral, Connie. So Thanks.

you know, reading this over it almost seems as though I have a particular regard for Marjorie. I mean, apart from the bit about hating her. you must'nt worry. I don't care how you treat her. I'm not altruistic.

I begin to think that one of these days I shall be getting well. What will they do ith me then? Give it some thought. Or perhaps it's one of those unpleasant things that everyone knows except me? It certaintly isnt one of those unpleasant things that nobody knows except you and I. That at least I am sure of.

Well, Connie, that's all. I won' entreat you to write or anything. i've discovered I'm quite as wretched if I hear from you as I am if I don't. you'd have liked to think otherwise? So would I. I hope New York Glitters and you are always drunk.

Ever so,
Tom Alden





Can't sleep tingiht. Keep seeing you at ten years old with that frog. Did you really eat it/ I really LIKED thefrog Connie.
Imiss you

unknown date (Marjorie to Conrad)

My Dearest Conrad,

I do hope and pray that you are well and happy, though by virtue of your long silence I begin to fear that you may be neither. I have tried to remain patient, and you mustn't think that it is with any impatience or spirit of reproach that I finally address your laxity in correspondance. Indeed, I trist you so implicitly that I cannot but ascribe to you the very best and kindest intentions in everything. Knowing, though, how great a comfort our correspondance has been to both of us. I have difficulty imagining that you have let lapse without some grave reason. It is wondering what this reason might be that torments me, and prompts me to write to you with the true feelings of my heart. If you are unwell, it would be such a blow to me, given that Mother's state grows ever worse, that I think I should almost prefer to know I had incurred your displeasure in some way.

If this is so, I can't imagine how. I have done nothing but love you most devotedly... dreadfully, as your new friend would say. Do forgive me and write, darling. Even a line will relieve my spirits. I live in a most oppressive atmosphere, and I know your words could lift it.

Always your own,
Marjorie

unknown date (Elle to Conrad)

Dear Old Con -

Sorry to bother you, but I've really got to talk to you. I'm in a bit of a fix. Not something I really like to write about out of the bue, 'Cause, I'm not sure how much it concerns you, but it might, if you catch my drift. Write or at least wire money. I won't involve you in anything messy if you can help me get out of this. If I could just even get out of town for a few months, I should be able to take care of things. Or if you can find a friend of yours from school right quick. At least I've never known any boys with red hair.

kisses,
Elle

9/9/1911 (Paris Ned to Conrad)

September 9, 1911, Paris

My Good Sir-

Confound you devil! Not writing to tell of your adventuress on the high seas has forced me to imaging them all - I'd say she was scarce the height og your chest with Aphrodite's blonde ringlets - now am I right? Dont make yourself anxious, dear boy, I will not tell my lovely sister Marjorie (or Sweet Marjoram, as I have taken to calling her which she detests) You know, an actress friend of mine swears by Sweet Marjoram as a cure for nausea - but I say one of her letters could make a sailor ill (not that I need to tell you, dear boy). While I am on the subject, may I put my pen to good use in urging you with all earnestness away from my sister? You are too high spirited for that girl, and she entirely too virtuous for the likes of you - I could not bear to see you converted on your marriage bed.

Now, enough about you and on to my own woes. My dear coz, can you guess? I am in love! Love of such fire and passion I think my soul already burning with those hellish flames for which it is consigned. Her name- the name the gods have damned, crucified and branded the darkest parts of my being with- Rowena! Alas, my heart! Alas my loins! You are amazed, no doubt, to learn that I am so quickly recovered from the black gash left on my soul by the strumpet Musetta (I shudder to even name that incorrigible Jezebel)! But I will not dwell. Let us rather focus on the charms of the dulcet angel who holds my heart. Those who gaze upon her gaze upon perfection wrought by the hand of Jove himself! Her breath is like spiced wine, her complexion warm honey, a rose in each of her cheeks, her eyes alive with smoldering fires of savage lust (such lust!), two lips as red as the blood in the heart which belongs to her alone - to consume even as my desire consumes her flesh! Soft and alive with dry heat and the sound of a thousand drums played in a distant land. Her hips dance and sway with unbridled sensuality and are shaped out of gold-fretted marble! Her breasts... oh! Her breasts! Inviting, soft, downy melons tasting of coffee and vanilla...Oh! A woman my dear man not of the highest pedigree, but unquestionably of the higest quality! Where did I find her you ask (in vain for there is none like her in the world) in that place of heavenly joys - Yes! The brothel next to Ludovico's! Aye me! I swear she could turn me French and my devotion would not waver.

But I digress, Do not, dear coz, let my present state of bliss make you unhopeful, but take my advice (and the enclosed) and to the nearest of those houses where a gentleman may take his ease (and his pleasure) let you on- and let her have fine eyes and agreeable proportions. Happy Birthday.


I am, ect.

Ned Devine