(no subject)

Jul 15, 2007 23:51

Dear Archibald Craven,

I told you, when we met, that I would leave.

And now I have. Am, I suppose. By the time you've read this, I'm rather certain I'll be gone.

I would like you to give this to Mary, when she turns 13.

It was my wedding ring.

I am sorry that our meeting was not more pleasant, and I am sorry that you hurt. But I do hope I can trust you to honor a dead woman's wishes.

Please love her the best you can. I ask that too. Because she deserves more than you or I can ever give her.

Sincerely,

Lucy Pevensie

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