Dearest!
Things keep getting worse. Oh, when will this end? I regret the day I agreed to come to London. No, that’s not right. I do not regret it, because I am even more upset to think of Catherine here without me. I am the only protection she has. No one else in the world seems to care whether she lives or dies.
We went to another one of her wild émigré parties, the kind I despise. I did not want to go, as I always come home with the headache, and it turns my days and nights upside down. But I did go, as I am always worried about the rowdiness of the crowds there. There are usually many men and not many ladies, and I am never sure that the ladies are really ladies. They speak French at me and laugh and say that I am “quaint.” It is quite distressing.
ladiesAround midnight, I decided th
