Since the last missive I penned upon this matter, I have received naught concerning Mara's bold enterprise to Great Yarmouth. She assured me that, upon the apprehension of the most wretched burglars, I should be the first privy to such news.
In my state of vexation and eager anticipation, I resolved to saunter to the kitchen, there to procure a favoured fruit from the bowl. The table, being rather low, renders the task of selecting my desired fruit most agreeable.
Yet, as I wheeled past the parlour, a sight appeared that set my blood ablaze with frustration. Aunt Whitney, in her utter disregard for my presence, had fixated her attention upon the hearth. Scattered therein were a number of telegrams. Approaching further, I espied the usual dreary newspapers and solicitations from prying neighbours.
Yet amongst the mundane, one telegram bore my name. What is more, it was inscribed in the hand of none other than Mara herself. In the wake of this cruel revelation, I have resolved to correspond with you all forthwith, whilst also penning secret missives to Mara on the event, away from cruel Aunt's watchful gaze.