The worst part was that every word had been real. Every word had been the truth. But she’d written the letters as if she had a face like Rita’s and a body like hers too, like she was a woman who could woo a man with her figure and her smile and back it up with a brain to match. And that part was a lie. She was small and homely. Ugly. Ambrose would feel like a fool for the words he’d given her. His words had been words for a beautiful girl. Not Fern.
