Sun Sep 30, 2007 5:12 pm
A note goes out the morning of October first, addressed to Cambree Swinton at the tea house. It's in Aloisius Treadwell's horridly sloppy sprawl and shows a little fitfulness on top of the usual mess. Its message is simple.
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Madame Swinton,
I'll keep this brief. I hold you as someone I can confide in a bit, and you're one of the few people in town who knows I was considering marriage.
But. . . .
It looks like I'll not be marrying the lady Winter after all. Last night was interesting, to say the least. We'll discuss it some time. . . eventually. . . perhaps. . . or maybe not at all. . . over tea, in private, if at all. Quite frankly, I'd rather forget the whole messy business.
Well! I've plenty of years left! Someone might turn up eventually. Maybe I ought to look for a woman my own age, hmm?
Aloisius H. Treadwell
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