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getattachmentMiss Kirk,

 I am ashamed to admit my rather uncomely lack of correspondence.  I have no other possible reasons beyond the egregiously heavy load of homework and other rather pressing scholastic engagements.  I choose to use them in my defense and, like all familiar acquaintances, they will consent to the positions of blame I place them in because they have not the confidence to reject my opinions.  Such confidence is a direct outcome of either distance (which they have not) or (familiarity) which, pray my darling, I shall not grant. 

I fear, Miss Kirk, that since our last, rather enlightening, tete-a-tete (which I have not formally thanked you for as of yet.) I have come back into the friendship of a certain young man of previous acquaintance.  I stumbled upon him in a lovely new café, namely The Pennyroyal, when the golden gentleman began to woo me with feeling and eloquence (Oh save me.  I have not the arsenal to defend myself from either). 

We continued our conversation, without pause, through the Museum of Art and into the night.  Oh, dear Miss Kirk, how can a young lady, timid at times, full of fire the next, fight against a young man who is almost a constant flow of soothing word and emotion?  He almost overpowers my frame with kindness and gentleness.  I know not what to do, when fire meets ocean. 

Oh, the trials of courting “nice young men” who genuinely are so.  I have not game plan nor script which lend themselves to play upon this field.  The problem is beginning to manifest itself if a quiet sense of boredom within me which turns me from woman to cat.  I weave in and out, look and dart, speak and fall silent, love and hate like a thing untamed. 

I bewilder and challenge him.  If only I were doing so intentionally!  I reflect that I may be playing with him, cat-like, if only to experiment upon the freedom he promises (and to keep myself entertained).  Miss Kirk, there are certain activities which a young unmarried woman of twenty may not entertain with gentlemen of her acquaintance and so she must think and do elsewhere and otherwise.  Instead I fill my time with play and   empty dwellings on those qualities I dislike in the young man, in whom there is precious little to dislike.  This behavior must END, lest I allow my desire for freedoms overcome my desire for constancy of character.  Why must I push back on young men who only desire to give?  It is this very giving which conquers me most. And I detest being conquered.  It is unbecoming this season and would go dreadfully ill with my new handbag. 

Your frustrated,
Miss Wollstonecraft

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