Dear Diary,
We buried poor Willie yesterday in a quiet spot in the garden. Mrs Norris wept loudly clutching Winky, her living, breathing rodent of a pet which lapped at the tears running down her face. She is genuinely disraught at the mishap and has vowed never to wear the 'shoes' that killed him again, even though they cost several guineas. It is obvious it was less the 'shoes' and more the crushing weight of the woman that snatched him from us.
Putting recriminations aside I enquired, of Mrs Norris, as to the health of Miss Honey Pott and how she fared after her recent, mysterious accident. Mrs Norris said that she had indeed recovered most splendidly though now refrained from riding alone. I asked if there were any clue to her attacker and Mrs Norris said that there was none and those who knew Miss Pott were aghast that anyone could be so offended by her. I nodded in agreement but did not inform her of my own unwelcome gifts in recent weeks. Thankfully whoever I have offended remains at a distance unlike Miss Pott's attacker.
Kristin Chenowith - Home
13 years ago
3 comments:
My Dear Mr Mous,
If bosems were brains, she'd be quite lethal...actually in one sense, she already is! Remember when Ned was nearly suffocated to death.
Yours reminiscently,
Wayne Austen.
Yes Wayne I do remember, why if he hadn't been able to grasp your ankle in a desperate plea for help he might not have survived the attack of the bosom of death.
Regards,
Anony.Mous
My Dear Mr Mous,
'The bosom of death'...I like that!
Yours appreciatively,
Wayne Austen.
Ps. and thank you for your subtlety in pointing out my spelling mistake.
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