The little package of nectar mother opened herself, though her hands are frail as a child's.
She could not believe them real till I had hidden one in her mouth, which somewhat convinced her. She asks me to thank you tenderly. The love of her friends is the only remnant of her grieved life, and she clings to it timidly.
I hope you are quite well, and am sure we sometimes think of each other, endeared by that most hallowed thorn, a mutual loss.
With sweet remembrance for your niece, of whom my sister speaks,
Last updated on May 3, 2000