Explore "The Letters of Ambrose Bierce" by Ambrose Bierce on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
MY DEAR BLANCHE,
Not hearing from [you] after writing you last week, I fear you are ill -- may I not know? I am myself ill, as I feared. On Thursday last I was taken violently ill indeed, and have but just got about. In truth, I'm hardly able to write you, but as I have to go to work on Friday, "sure", I may as well practice a little on you. And the weather up here is Paradisaical. Leigh and I took a walk this morning in the woods. We scared up a wild deer, but I did not feel able to run it down and present you with its antlers.