It was a horrid winter morning, the most bitter wed had but year. I had searched all through the house for my lens hood, but it was no w here to be found. Betsy had been sent to the market, I couldnt ask her. Darn. I ventured into the parlour. The provoke had gone out and it was draughty, stale cigar smoke filled the air. Half-full brandy snifters rest on various tables around the room. Papa must receive had a business meeting. I was going to be of late. As I rushed out of the parlour, I noticed my bonnet sitting upon the book shelf. No doubt put there by Betsy in one of her many muddled moments. I smiled to myself. Now the book I had found sitting on my dressing table wasnt such a mystery. I love her dearly, but honestly.
Rushing to the front door, I picked up my gloves and turn up, stopping only abundant enough fix my hair underneath my bonnet. I was terrible at styling it myself, Betsy usually did it. I get withal impatient. Oh bother it, Ill just let it hang down. At least my hair had been in rags during the night. Jeffery called after me as I dash towards the gate. I shook my head quickly at him and waved goodbye. A carriage would take too long to prepare, I was late as it was. He wished me luck.
It had obviously rained heavily the night before. Darn. The streets were arch with large muddy puddles everywhere. I tried to hold up my skirts as I walked, but kept losing grip.
Darn long skirts, darn layered petticoats and darn the rain! Maybe I should have waited for a carriage. No matter, at least my coat would cover the mud-soaked hems of my skirt. I...
It is obvious that the writer has interpolated her personal experiences. However here it is a weakness since it starts off with too many unattractive details. And the moment the essay kicks off and gets to be interesting it is all of a sudden cut.
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