Dearest Diary,
Would that much had transpired over the last twelve hours, but I'm afraid it hasn't. What should seemingly be a day affording a rather gloomy disposition has contrarily turned into one of promise. Perhaps not in reality, but being the story-teller I oft perceive myself to be, I certainly kept myself in high spirits with the tale I was concocting in my own thoughts. It was, of no doubt, a story of love and courtship. One with the Happiest of endings. And the gentleman contained within such a tale was possessed of an easy smile and striking features, making it rather difficult for one to fall into oblivion. Would that a like creature might make haste into the social circles I frequent. That could certainly make for intrigue in our particular correspondence.
Nevertheless, despite the want for reality, I had a most pleasant afternoon with the schoolchildren and the friends I hold so dear. I also received word again from Mother and Sister that the furnishings they had so desired shall arrive at the lakehouse on the morrow...
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