The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 5

by Beth Brower

Cousin Archibald and I have agreed we must moot regarding the issue and devise a plan. “We must moot,” said he. “Moot, Cousin?” “We live in a vile, modern era,” snapped he, “if one cannot use the word moot.” “Let us moot,” said I. Very serious, indeed.

And I’m certainly not about to convince P, I, & H to play charades. Am I? It is tempting. I’m almost desperate to see it now.

The year is fresh and unworn, and I’ve not wanted to look ahead, truly ahead, for so long now that I’m determined to keep hold of the courage to do it.