Explore "My Hildegarde" by St. George Rathborne on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Curiosity may have had something to do with my leaning over Robbins' shoulder as he unfolded the paper. I, too, was an American, and had as much right as he to enter into the spirit of the game; besides, if it proved to be a begging epistle, cunningly contrived, as I suspected was the case, I was better able to stand the racket than poor Robbins, just rescued from the sea.
When he had straightened out the paper and held it so that the light from neighboring lamps fell upon its face, I was surprised at two things -- the writing was plain English, and it was in a decidedly feminine hand. My eyes read the heading: "To any American in Bolivar," and somehow it seemed to strike me as an appeal quite out of the ordinary.