“Pictures of perfection, as you know, make me sick and wicked.”
Dear Jane, I must confess that I write to you in a state of utter despair. In truth, I feel as Elizabeth Bennet felt when she learned that Lydia ran away with that wretch, Wickham. In other words, I feel hopeless. Let me explain (for it is not so very alarming as I have made it seem, but it is not joyous news either)... As I was looking leisurely through my cellular device this morning whilst lounging in bed, I decided to glance at the book list I had saved in my notes. In my tired state (and by a cruel turn of fate), I accidentally erased the whole list and there is no hope of recovery. What is a young lady who prizes books above all things to do in such a situation?? I am sure that you know by now how very terrible my memory is, so you will agree that I have almost no hope in remembering what was on that list. Oh, woe is me, Jane! Somehow, I shall find the strength to carry on, but it will not be an easy task, I dare say. I hesitate to share my next story wit...