Room 410, Wednesday afternoon
Ichabod sat at his desk, staring at the letter in front of him. He knew from the handwriting who it was from without opening it. His name was neatly written in an almost childish hand, and the scent of the paper made him slightly nauseous. Mary had never learnt the art of using perfume in moderation. With a sigh he finally tore it open and began to read.
Dearest Ichabod,
You cannot imagine what suffering it brought me to visit your house without you there. All our familiar haunts seemed desolate and I was brought to tears...
"A good thing I wasn't there, then," Ichabod muttered to himself.
...Our fathers did little to comfort me, even though I know they must have seen my tears. You would not have been so cruel, Ichabod, of that I am sure. When we are married I believe I shall never again cry again.
"Well, I am sorry, but that marriage is never going to happen." He would find a way to get out of it. Knowing what it was to love made chaining himself to someone he despised impossible. He skimmed the rest of the letter, which went on in a similay way and ended with:
Your beloved fiancée
Mary.
He slammed the letter down on the desk and rose from his chair while reaching for his coat. A long walk was needed to clear this out of his mind. He left the room, the door half-open.
[Who Ichabod received a letter from is nfb, please, everything else is fine.]
Dearest Ichabod,
You cannot imagine what suffering it brought me to visit your house without you there. All our familiar haunts seemed desolate and I was brought to tears...
"A good thing I wasn't there, then," Ichabod muttered to himself.
...Our fathers did little to comfort me, even though I know they must have seen my tears. You would not have been so cruel, Ichabod, of that I am sure. When we are married I believe I shall never again cry again.
"Well, I am sorry, but that marriage is never going to happen." He would find a way to get out of it. Knowing what it was to love made chaining himself to someone he despised impossible. He skimmed the rest of the letter, which went on in a similay way and ended with:
Your beloved fiancée
Mary.
He slammed the letter down on the desk and rose from his chair while reaching for his coat. A long walk was needed to clear this out of his mind. He left the room, the door half-open.
[Who Ichabod received a letter from is nfb, please, everything else is fine.]