Oh! Woe is I!
For I have deeply felt affections which YOU, dear Oscar might find terribly trival and strange.
A coward I am... I seal the affections kissed apon the cold Paris stones on where you now lie.
For have you not said "Every man kills the thing he loves, cowards to it with a kiss, the kindest with a knife for the death soon grow cold".
Ah! If I only had a knife.
Perhaps then and only then would I have pleased you?
As you once stated "Every MAN".
And I mearly ask you this, where doth I, where doth I, good sir, a young woman stand?
Always yours forever and ever more,
Margaret.
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