It has been a great disappointment to us all, and to our respective families, my poor darling Arabel especially; but we can only be patient, and I take comfort in the obvious fact that my Penini is quite well and almost as rosy as ever in spite of the excessive Florence heat.

One of the worst thoughts I have is about _you_.

I had longed so to see you this summer, and had calculated with such certainty upon doing so.

I would have gone to England for that single reason if I could, but I can't; we can't stir, really.

That we should be able to sit quietly still at Florence and eat our bread and maccaroni is the utmost of our possibilities this summer.
Mrs.Trollope has gone to the Baths of Lucca, and thus I have not seen her.