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Dearest Flora - 

I am astonished, depressed, miserable, forlorn and anything else you can think of at your sad news - why are you deserting me thus? I really could tell you how much I missed you and how I was looking forward to seeing you soon again - even to the extent of getting an extra  seat for you to Dear Salli Curie on the 19th with the faint hope that you might be here - as you will not be here. I shall put my soul (if I have any by that time) into that particular seat and let it browse there beside me. A romantic thought, but one brought down to earth at the vision of the soul ensconced in red plush breathing the air of the theatre.

At the present moment I am sitting here alone and miserable with a fiery mustard plaster pinned to my suffering chest - having stayed home on account of croup-like prospects. Altogether it's a sad world