Tonight, I came upon Mrs. Stoddard standing atop Widow’s Hill and, thinking she was to jump, scared her senseless as I caught her from the edge.  I continue to be drawn to that hill.  She has a bent toward the acceleration of mortality.  Again, I speak of my concerns and they are none the wiser.  I asked if death or life contained more torment — ironic subjects on the eve of her wedding.

She is clearly terribly unhappy with the Irish Irritant, and so his death cannot come soon enough.  But how to be subtle?

The spectrum of life and death becomes increasingly unclear.  I hope quite fervently that Sarah is indeed returning.  However, I have no idea how I would respond were I to see her again.  But I want it fervently.

My attention remains on finding companionship.  Attempting to navigate my loneliness, I have found myself attracted once more to Miss Winters, the tutor.  There remains a strange familiarity to her, and I find her to be an excellent conversationalist and stalwart of morality. Yet another reason why I am disenchanted with her bewildering choice to entertain Mr. Burke Devlin (yet another irksome Irishman), a man of great confidence and limited vision… precisely the sort whom women seek as suitors as much in this time as in my own.



One Comment on “267”

  1. mrsgreenhands June 9, 2013 at 6:22 pm #

    Reblogged this on Mrsgreenhands’s Weblog.

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