You’ll never believe what came in the mail today.
It came from Brazil, with lots of exciting-looking postage!
I did that thing where you fondle the thing inside the package, to see what it might be. Because I had sort of forgotten what I had ordered from Brazil. (I order a lot of things on a whim. It’s a fault that I have no immediate plans to correct.)
Once I felt it, I knew immediately what it must be.
A notebook. Handbound, with creamy white pages on the inside. A sweet little tapestry bookmark. With beads and tassels.
But none of that is really why I ordered it.
The maritime-y insignia on the front is a clue.
Open the flyleaf.
Written in gorgeous longhand is the best letter Jane Austen ever wrote — and, I would say, the only time she ever really got the narrative climax scene right, without any goddamn, infernally coy drawing-of-the-veil-over-the-lovers’-scene.
Nope. This one is pure, raw emotion.
It helps that it includes the word “agony,” I will admit.
It continues on the back flyleaf.
Don’t worry, you can get one, too. Don’t even try to pretend you don’t want one.