𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘢 𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘶𝘭𝘦,
𝘈𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘶 𝘱𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘶 𝘢 𝘮𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘢, 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘶 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘵𝘪 𝘤𝘢 𝘢𝘮 𝘶𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘥𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘶 𝘯𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘪 𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘪. 𝘕𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘪 𝘥𝘢𝘪 𝘴𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪 𝘴𝘪 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘪 𝘯𝘶 𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘐𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴, 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘪 𝘯𝘶 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘶 𝘢𝘪𝘤𝘪. 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘤 𝘤𝘶 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘢 𝘤𝘢 𝘌𝘥 𝘵𝘦-𝘢𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘪.
𝘋𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘶 𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢, 𝘯𝘶?
𝘌 𝘤𝘪𝘶𝘥𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘶 𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘷𝘢, 𝘮𝘪-𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘪 𝘢𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘔𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤 𝘴𝘢 𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘦. 𝘚𝘢 𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘱𝘵, 𝘢𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘱𝘦, 𝘢𝘴𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘢 𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘦 𝘦𝘭. 𝘚𝘢 𝘪𝘪 𝘱𝘶𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘶 𝘢-𝘪 𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘶 𝘦𝘭.
𝘕𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘪 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘶𝘭𝘦..
𝘕𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘪 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵.
𝘐𝘮𝘪 𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘶. 𝘐𝘮𝘪 𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘶.
𝘝𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘪 𝘪𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘻𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘦 𝘌𝘥. 𝘝𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘪 𝘦𝘶 𝘯𝘶 𝘪𝘭 𝘷𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘶. 𝘕𝘶 𝘢𝘻𝘪, 𝘯𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦,𝘯𝘶 𝘤𝘶 𝘦𝘭. 𝘔𝘪-𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘪 𝘴𝘢 𝘪𝘢𝘴𝘢 𝘴𝘪 𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘤𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘢 𝘴𝘪 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘶, 𝘯𝘶 𝘢𝘮 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘦 𝘴𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤 𝘢𝘴𝘢. 𝘌 𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘶 𝘴𝘪 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘢 𝘴𝘢 𝘪𝘮𝘪 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘤 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘢 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘭.
𝘋𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘶 𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘪 𝘪𝘮𝘪 𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘕𝘶 𝘪𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵.
𝘕𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘢 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘢 𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢. 𝘗𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘤𝘢 𝘯𝘶 𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢, 𝘢𝘮 𝘧𝘪 𝘧𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘪.
𝘋𝘢𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘪, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦-𝘮𝘢 𝘤𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘪. 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘪. 𝘐𝘵𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘪. 𝘚𝘪 𝘵𝘶 𝘤𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘪. 𝘗𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘪 𝘶𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘤 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘐𝘮𝘪 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘢 𝘮𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤 𝘤𝘢 𝘦. 𝘚𝘪 𝘷𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘶-𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘌𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘭𝘶𝘪.
𝘕𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘤𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘮 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘥𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘮𝘪 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘢 𝘥𝘢.
𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘢 𝘥𝘢.
𝘕𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘮 𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘶 𝘴𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘢 𝘤𝘶 𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘶 𝘴𝘪 𝘷𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘦 𝘦𝘪. 𝘝𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘪 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘪, 𝘤𝘶 𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘪.
𝘝𝘰𝘪 𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘢𝘱𝘢 𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘻𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪 𝘷𝘰𝘪 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘪 𝘤𝘢 𝘴-𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵. 𝘝𝘰𝘪 𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘶𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘶 𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘻𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪 𝘷𝘰𝘪 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘪
𝘤𝘢 𝘴-𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵.
CITEȘTI
Dear Uncle
Historical Fiction,,Draga jurnalule, Îți scriu din trăsură. Mă îndrept spre Londra, loc unde s-ar presupune că îmi voi găsi alesul."
