My Dearest Lauren, It is with heavy hand and even heavier heart that I write these words to you. It has been near two years since last we laughed gaily, romped about the city (unescorted!), or simply took a turn about the room, discussing philosophy and maths. And oh, how I long to be back at Conradshire, enjoying sweet and savory meats, playing fortunatas and drinking plum sherry until ten o'clock. I wonder often of how Lord Brody treats you. Is he well? Are you happy, dear Lauren? Oh, I do of course realize that to ask questions in a letter is a most futile pursuit, surely I may well shout the queries into the cooling east wind. But still, I do wonder. I oft think of our quarrel and try to dissect, like one of Professor Wahler's biologie experiments, the organ of the friendship, the once thrumming tissue of our amity, to determine why it died. If you've any answers for me, it would lift my heart higher than Doctor Justin Bobby's magick gyrocopter flying machine. Though I realize I may have arranged my hopes into too fragile and delicate a bouquet. I am in need of water, dear Lauren. And you've the ewer. Eagerly awaiting your reply, should you see fit to provide one. Your eternally, Heidi

