The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 6

by Beth Brower

“And now I must go, for when one is approaching spinsterhood, frequent rest is required. Especially as my left knee has been creaking in an alarming manner. Terrible, you see, if I caught a draft. Thank you for being so caring, so obliging, and so understanding in regard to my age. I am positively withering on the vine.”

“We hated one another for a good many years—as solid a foundation for any friendship, I suppose.”

“Tell him there is a man in the house who not only disapproves of morning robes but is actively campaigning for Parliament to ban them altogether.”

Cousin Archibald has got hold of a tambourine. (Where in heaven’s name did he find it?) Parian, Agnes, and I have formed a pact. The first to find said tambourine unattended is to bury it in the garden.

As soon as I’d sorted my hair from a Wholly Inappropriate state to a Still Tragic But At Least It Has Been Pinned state, I went down and entered the drawing room.

The idea that one could live in a world where a friend would invite you to go read in another’s library feels more dream than reality. It bodes well for my life’s prospects.

There is no feeling quite like finishing a book that you’ve loved. I expect to feel nothing less.