More of that...

I am afraid my last entry failed to reveal all it should. His name is Anton Friedrich and he is a Count and a Salzburger but enough of that. When he kissed my hand from out of my muff, he whispered: 'My lovely child, in kissing your hand, you have no idea how I burn, just to imagine if I kissed your knees or your feet because they are so enticing.' He did neither. "Do not open your mouth to my kisses, my sweet, for in its ripeness, it can only be kissed on your wedding night." At which point, my dear mama turned around and asked if we should ride again through the woods. "Yes," said I quickly and in the flurry of hooves, he spoke above the hubbub. 'While I am waiting, I imagine the heart of a flower. At the centre, there is the most heavenly fruit.' 'It may not be edible,' cried my same dear mama who has ears like a lynx. I said nothing for the rest of the journey. N.