You see,
before this I have never thought of myself as a real true
Forsyth--I've always just been Jimmie's daughter. But lately I've
been thinking a lot about what a Forsyth ought to be and there are
about a million questions I'd like to ask:
1. Ought Mr. Norris to let the Mills sink into a boneyard of
antiquity?
2. What is the very most money I could spend all in one lump and
can I spend it without telling anyone about it beforehand?
3. There's an empty cottage just below where the Manor road crosses
the river and Williams says the Forsyths own it. Can Beryl and I
use it for a club?
Thinking of the questions makes me forget the other nine hundred
ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety seven, (I did that on
paper) but please come to Gray Manor soon so that I can ask the
rest.
Your loving Red-Robin.
P.S. The violin came and thanks ever and ever so much though Beryl
says she will not call it hers for one little minute. But she most
cried over it she loves it so and she makes the most beautiful
music with it.
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