12"MY DARLING NAN,
Don't think me a piggy wig because I haven't written before. I haven't had a moment, dear, and even now I feel so exhausted that I can hardly hold a pen.
Well, the dreadful deed is done. We have actually left the giddy whirl of town, and I can't see how we shall ever go back again, for my brother-in-law has bought this house 'lock, stock and barrel,' to use his own words.
In a way, or course, it is an awful relief, for he has been threatening to take a place in the country ever since I've lived with them–and I must say the house and garden are awfully nice–a million times better than that awful cubby-hole in town.
But buried, my dear. Buried isn't the word.
We have got neighbours, but they are only farmers–big louts of boys who seem to be milking all day, and two dr
