Words

Elsapatience

He's stolen my blue ribbon! That rat-faced weasel. Horrid little mouse turd.
Now he has my letter and my ribbon. What does he think he is, that he can just take what doesn't belong to him? And carry it round like a trophy. Augh I hate him.

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

Perhaps the book is a load of rubbish. Haven't seen or made any contact with the ghost, and it has been nearly a week.
I did, however, find that my new leather boots have been in the slop bucket since yesterday morning. I can't quite get the stink out of them. And there was grit in my tea this afternoon. And a maid tripped me with a broom as I went to join Father and Uncle in the drawing room.
Bad luck, perhaps? An onslaught from the impatient ghost?