Hester’s diary was damaged. The key was missing, the clasp so rusted that it left e stains on your fingers. The first three pages were stuck together where the glue from the inner cover had melted into them. On every page the last word dissolved into a brownish tide mark, as if the diary had been exposed to dirt and damp together. A few pages had been torn; along the ripped edges was a tantalizing list ments: abn, cr, ta, est. Worst of all, it seemed that the diary had at some point been submerged in water. The pages undulated; when closed, the diary splayed to more than its intehiess.
It was this submersion that was going to cause me the greatest difficulty. When one gla a page, it was clear that it was script. Not any old script, either, but Hester’s. Here were her firm asders, her balanced, fluid loops; here were her fortable slant, her eic yet funal gaps. But on a closer look, the words were blurred and faded. Was this line an l or a t? Was this c……（内容加载失败！）
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