Dearest Diary,
As the Autumn months begin it is increasingly apparent there is none to accompany me on long walks through the fallen leaves. This is not as tiresome today as I often find it to be. Rather there is far more to keep me occupied than to meditate on one's lack of a husband. Nevertheless as one would suspect, the matter does arise from time to time.
I was recently conversing on the topic with a friend of like circumstance. The friend then enlisted the advise of yet another friend who proceeded to issue a sermon on the topic at hand. Despite the necessity of the sermon, I found his words encouraging. He indeed bade me well on the journey and offered his own opinion of my worth for a suitor. His opinion was favourable. While I do not doubt whether I am deserving, it is not uncommon for me to question such an opinion when it is not often granted me by a source who is not my relation. I find I am again hopeful that my time shall come at last. In fact I am reminded of a certain literary aunt in France who deemed that we "not be married at once, but at last." It is evidently the more prudent election in her estimation. If it pleases her, I shall at least not marry on the morrow.
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