my dear
children.
i kiss
you，
mygirl，
you too，
my
son-in-law，
and the
little one
on both
cheeks. i
am，
withbest
compliments，
your
loving
father.
“theodore
rouault.”
she held
the coarse
paper in
her
fingers
forsome
minutes.
the
spelling
mistakes
were
interwoven
one with
the other，
andemma
followed
the kindly
thought
that
cackled
right
through it
like a hen
halfhidden
in the
hedge of
thorns.
the
writing
had been
