(no subject)
Dear Michael,
Well, quiet isn't necessarily bad. I know I've been longing for quiet and normal for the longest time - sad, but true. Though that isn't to say I'm not enjoying India, which is decidedly not in my definition of "normal" and isn't precisely "quiet." It's so lovely here. I'd missed spending so much time with Parvati. It seemed like we saw surprisingly little of each other the last few months at school, given that we lived in the same room.
We're going to have to find a way to shrink that head of yours. I liked it ever so much better when it was normal-sized. I doubt you'd look quite so handsome all puffed up like a blowfish or something like that! Hee.
How interesting, that they named the hurricane. I didn't know they had names. I'm glad it wasn't the horror I half-imagined it would be. I like you too much to lose you now.
I think nipping may be Horatio's Very Manly Equivalent of kissing people. It means he likes us.
The heat has yet to kill me here. Well, the humidity is the real problem, as I've mentioned. Those gardens, by the way, really were beautiful. There'll be pictures later, when they're all developed. The flowers were so bright... I've yet to work up to buying a sari yet, but I have done some shopping (by which I mean, my parents will be appalled when they see all I have to bring home at the end of my trip). I haven't found the right thing for you yet, though. I want that to be a good one.
'Vi and I go out walking around every day. She's been before, but I haven't, so she indulges my curiosity - I have to see everything. I'm afraid I haven't got enough of a control on the English language to begin describing it all, and I'd probably bore you if I tried. So I will some up that the only bad thing about India is that Theodore Nott is here - and he, thank goodness - or at least I think it's goodness we've to thank that he - is inextricably, frighteningly bound up in Padma. She seems to enjoy it, though.
I hate admitting that I'm mildly envious - not because of Nott - Merlin, I detest him - but because she's got him, and you're as far away as Florida...
I've given up on wishing for Scotland, because I'm glad just to be here now, though I still wish you could see all of this with me. So, yes. You can imagine me happy and a little dusty from my walks, chatting constantly with 'Vi, and eating too much yogurt. I'm the English girl in India missing you terribly, should you hear from your parents - the one who wishes desperately that you were here, because she's missing your kisses and your arms and your voice, even - yes - your Oh So Manly Stubble scratching my neck - because that means you, and curling up with you -
Though I'd never mention that part to your parents.
But now I've gone and been Too Much, I suspect. I hope I haven't frightened you away with all that fervent longing. I know I've frightened myself. If I don't hear from you again, I will know that I've scared you off into the arms of some beautiful American blonde!
Yours - if you couldn't tell by now -
Lavender
P.S. I apologize - for the - rampant - dashes. Hee. I've been reading Victorian literature and they're mad about their dashes. I'm afraid it's catching. I suspect the drama is, as well. Everyone is so awfully melodramatic. I think that a Victorian heroine in my position would be madly in love with you after a single evening, and would be fading away here in India, possibly of consumption, but more because of a broken heart. My dear Mr Corner, whatever is a young lady to do, so far from her suitor as all this? 'Vi will have to console me. I'll probably die of yogurt, lying in her arms as she cries over her lost friend. Far less dignified, I fear, than consumption and a broken heart.