After a lovely evening with Miss Evans, I’ve learned that she may be off to Boston.  Time and fate conspire to accelerate the creation of Adam’s mate, science be damned.

I am shoring up my maturity to be as gracious as possible in the wake of Miss Winters shattered engagement.  Yes, I am attempting avuncularity, but there are certainly other possibilities from which I would never shirk.  There is a concert in Bangor that I heard Young Loomis speaking about, and I invited Miss Winters to attend.  Must I acquire the proper rainments?  Most of the attendees of these kinds of events dress as if they were long-shipwrecked clam-diggers who have traversed a whale’s colon to escape.

I just don’t know if I can do that.



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