Dear Count Saint-Germain,
I had hopes I would meet you before now. I wonder if you have ever read this page. These past months have been chaotic to say the least and I have been unable to write anything. My disgust at life grows. I beg for help. I remain in ill health. There has been a recent outbreak of disease. In vain hope that you will ever help me I'm writing again because because because. The mesquiotes are terrible, the heat unbearable. Do help soon.
Josephine
August 26, 2002
