Imagine for me, if you will, the scene at breakfast. The owl post swoops in. A letter is deposited on your plate. And somehow, some way, you are distracted. Perhaps you are reaching for the gravy, or eggs. Perhaps you are reading.
"Ooo, it's from Roger," someone is heard to say. That gets your attention. You look up, but it's too late. Some meddlesome third-year's nabbed it and taken off to read it aloud. "She's getting snooooooog letters."
The embarassment is mild. The irritation is great. And you're not exactly chuffed at me for sending such a letter into the midst of meddlesome children.
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I'm fine now.
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Are you sure?
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I'm positive. I didn't write in this thing until I was sure.
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Not at all.
Well, bugger, I'll worry anyway, but HONESTLY Roger, be careful!
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Miss you.
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Something private.
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But that sounds nice. Really nice.
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I have some letters I wrote you but never sent because of that.
Dinner first? Or at least tea?
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Tea would be wonderful.
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"Ooo, it's from Roger," someone is heard to say. That gets your attention. You look up, but it's too late. Some meddlesome third-year's nabbed it and taken off to read it aloud. "She's getting snooooooog letters."
The embarassment is mild. The irritation is great. And you're not exactly chuffed at me for sending such a letter into the midst of meddlesome children.
Scene.
You see why I didn't send it.
Sandwiches at the Broomsticks?
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