Bad Times. Scoundrel Days. It is so difficult when you know they are much worse than you but you seem to be the only one to see it. Empty, empty, empty heads. They can't talk. They do talk. They never speak. I'm going to go crazy one of these days. And they'll find me - oh I don't know what will happen to me. I listened to ABBA and every word
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I'll speak to you again during this week. In the meantime, sleep my dear, sleep.
And you're going to get a nice surprise along with my next letter [guess, guess, guess....]. But I'm afraid the surprise will have to be in instalments.
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