On this most contemplative season, when the year exhales its final breath beneath candlelight and conscience alike, I find myself compelled, nay, morally obligated, to put pen to paper and offer you my sincerest thanks.
Though our acquaintance is but a modest one, your generosity of spirit in lending your eyes, your patience, and your discerning intellect to my humble manuscript has not gone unnoticed, nor uncherished. In an age so cruelly indifferent, such an act of quiet support assumes proportions almost heroic.
Know, then, that amid the fog of drafts and doubts, your presence stood as a small but steadfast lantern-one that did not blaze ostentatiously, but glowed with sufficient warmth to reassure a wandering author that the path was, indeed, worth walking.
May this Christmas find you in excellent health, elevated spirits, and surrounded by sentences that behave themselves. And may the coming year repay your kindness with inspiration as indulgent as it is inexhaustible.
With the highest esteem and a grateful heart,
J. Henry