The m, when Judith came with my breakfast tray, I gave her the letter for Mr. Lomax, and she took a letter for me from her apron pocket. I reized my father’s handwriting.
My father’s letters were always a fort, and this one was no exception. He hoped I was well. Was my work progressing? He had read a very strange and delightful eenth-tury Danish hat he would tell me about when I returned. At au he had e across a bundle of eighteenth-tury letters no one seemed to want. Might I be ied? He had bought them in case. Private detectives? Well, perhaps, but would a genealogical researcher not do the job just as well or perhaps better? There was a fellow he knew who had all the right skills, and e to think of it, he owed Father a favor—he sometimes came into the shop to use the almanacs. In case I inteo pursue the matter, here was his address. Finally, as always, those well meant but desiccated four words: Mother sends her love.
Did she really say it? I wond……（内容加载失败！）
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