This is the last letter from our precious friend Lorraine.
I imagine you have guessed to her state of mind by now. After she wrote the last letter, she went on down to the prison and I think it jarred her memory. She came smashing back into the house after and blew into the home office. She took down the box from the cupboard that she normally keeps me in and tipped out its contents onto the floor. Hundreds of letter came tumbling out. Some typed on different machines, some hand written. They all had postal stamps… but none had ever been sent.
I think this letter speaks for itself, so I will just let it speak.