"It's dusk, dearest. (In passing, isn't 'dusk' a lovely word? I like it better than twilight. It sounds so velvety and shadowy and . . . and . . . DUSKY.) In daylight I belong to the world . . . in the night to sleep and eternity. But in the dusk I'm free from both and belong only to myself . . . and YOU. So I'm going to keep this hour sacred to writing to you. Though THIS won't be a love-letter. I have a scratchy pen and I can't write love-letters with a scratchy pen . . . or a sharp pen . . . or a stub pen. So you'll only get THAT kind of letter from me when I have exactly the right kind of pen. Meanwhile, I'll tell you about my new domicile and its inhabitants. . .”
"HONORED AND RESPECTED SIR:--
It's wonderful to think we're young and have our whole lives before us . . . TOGETHER . . . isn't it?"
(Several pages omitted. Anne's pen being evidently neither sharp,stub nor rusty.)
(excerpts from L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Windy Poplars)