Dear Diary,
An unexpected visit by Mrs Norris and her awful pug, yesterday has left me quite faint with anxiety. Her nasty snub-nosed beast disappeared for most of the afternoon, which caused her the most awful distress. Never was there such a wailing to be heard, well not since the death of Old Tom, and recalling it now I believe the Pastor to be a much more accomplished wailer than Mrs Norris. I digress. That nasty, smelly bag of slaver was eventually found down in the larder licking at one of Mrs Crutchlow's old cheeses. But that is not the end of this sorry tale, Oh no! Imagine my horror when I discovered in the eve that the beast had been rooting, unbeknownst to me, in my private places and had removed my diary from its resting place. I was quite frantic with worry and cursed the animal with words I dare not write down here. Thankfully, I recovered it this morning behind my water closet and it was still moist with the fiend's juices. I cannot deny I dreamt last night of the beast meeting its ends in similar circumstances to my Father's dear dog but awoke with alarm, when on close examination it appeared to have the grinning face of Mrs Norris as it lay prostrate in the dying fern.
Today, I am to Manchesterford, to visit my old friend Mr Griffiths, but shall return on the morrow. Adieu.
Kristin Chenowith - Home
14 years ago
