Uncle Jack arrived back this morning with my new German text, and Miss Prism says we will be obliged to spend a *large* amount of time on German now since we have missed so many lessons. I hate German. It isn't at all a becoming language. In fact, I am quite sure that I look more than usually plan after my German lessons.
Sweet, appealing letter from Ernest, asking whether I will still think of him even after I have met all the charming boys at the ball. I have informed him that I will not even *look* at any boys at the ball, unless I am obliged to dance with them of course.
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