It was torture (and not the good kind) to catch only a brief glimpse of you Monday eve. Wanted to draw you aside to talk and more. To feast upon these brief moments with you. Impossible.

I weary of the vileness of this separation, scorn the barriers between us. Even more, I sense your purity is under attack, too. I fear your bright and keen edge has dulled, my lovely one, without me around to whet it to razor sharpness again for you.

The damned diricawl and squeaking bat weave shadows round you, deepening, deepening. And HIS actions couldn't even brighten your dimming eyes.

Consoled myself by reasoning you'll be with me soon. But it's not enough anymore.

Come to me and stay with me. You're mine, Justine. You know it. Cast off the shackles, blast the pigeons to bloody bits if you must, but come to me. I couldn't bear to be parted from you again. You love to torture me, but not like this, Justine. For once, make us both happy and come to me.

Even tidbit misses you.

Send me the word: Lincoln Castle, not just for the summer.

For good.
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