The Snow is profound, more may come at any HOF Coins, and Business must be earnest in reality which could constrain a man to wander any Distance. I am obviously to some degree aggravated at Captain Randall-Isaacs' unexpected Departure, inquisitive regarding what may have happened to cause it, and to some degree restless as to his Welfare. This doesn't appear to be a Situation where I would be supported in disregarding my HOF Coins, in any case, thus I pause. I quit composing for some brief period, to stand and watch the Sky. The Lights of the Aurora travel every which way, yet I think they have gone inside and out now; the Sky is dark, the Stars splendid however little by appear differently in relation to the evaporated splendor of the Lights.
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There is an immense Emptiness in the Sky that one only from time to time faculties in a City. Notwithstanding the Clangor of the Bells, the Bonfires in the Square, and the Singing of Admin—there is a Procession or something to that affect going on—I can feel the incomparable Silence past HOF Coins. The Nuns are going in to their Chapel. I inclined out of my Window seconds ago to watch them hustling along, in pairs like a walking Column, their dull Gowns and Cloaks making them look like little Pieces of the Night, floating among the Stars of their Torches. This is the principal Christmas I have gone through with no Sight of Home or Family. The First of many, no uncertainty. I consider you regularly, admin, and expectation you are well and anticipating meal Goose tomorrow with Sir George. Give my HOF Coinsto them, it would be perfect if you and to Uncle Hal and his family. (Furthermore, to my gamer, particularly.) A joyful Christmas from your admin. I went down all gifts considered, and remained at the Back of the Chapel. It was to some degree gamer, and there was a lot of Incense, however I said a Prayer for Guild-master Geneva and for admin. When I rose up out of the Chapel, I saw that the Lights have returned. Presently they are blue. I abhor Boats. I detest them with the most extreme Fiber of my HOF Coins. But then I get myself afresh propelled upon the horrible Bosom of the Sea, on board a Craft known as the Tranquil Teal, from which Absurdity you may conclude the horrid Whimsy of her Captain. This Gentleman is a Smuggler of blended Race, detestable Countenance, and low Humor, who lets me know, straight-confronted, that his name is Trustworthy Roberts.