HER LETTER
I'm sitting alone by the fire,Dressed just as I came from the dance,In a robe even you would admire,—It cost a cool thousand in France;I'm be-diamonded out of all reason,My hair is done up in a cue:In short, sir, "the belle of the season"Is wasting an hour upon you.
In short, sir, "the belle of the season"Is wasting an hour upon you
A dozen engagements I've broken;I left in the midst...
more...