Dearest Elizabeth,
Thomas came home in a boisterous mood yesterday. It was late in the eve, and he thundered in, rambling obscenities, cursing the "pernicious projects" as he stumbled into bed. I don't know how much longer I can weather these trials – the imbibing in ale, the grumbling, the aggression, the sour moods. I am ashamed to admit that he struck me across the face for failing to prepare adequate meals. How am I to make meals out of stale bread? He drinks away what little money we have left. It all began we these cursed convex lights. I am worried for Thomas' sanity; he is always muttering about the downfall of private and lawful trade and wretched monopolies. He and his father have written multiple treaties to the Mayor, Aldermen, and even Commons, to little avail. I would never utter a word of this to any soul but you dearest sister, but I am rather partial to the appearance of these new lamps. They do not reek half as much as the tallow Thomas renders down. Why could I have not married a man with a more pleasant trade? Moving about the city due to the stench of tallow, living in the most disreputable of neighbourhoods, smelling of things which no respectable woman should ever smell. I could have married a carpenter, but the follies of youth led me to marry for love. Forgive my grumbling. My nerves are frayed with all of this political talk and constant muttering. Providence has decried my fate thusly, and I will bear it as I can, it is trying to live with a husband who is so wholly absorbed by the politics of guilds and lawful trade. I pray that I will soon become comfortable with the state of affairs, as changing circumstances appear unlikely. Thomas will continue to gripe and grumble, while these new lamps continue to devour our family's livelihood. I hope that James and the children are faring well, and that life in the country continues to bring you joy.
Lovingly yours,
Eleanor

Dearest Elizabeth,
Thomas came home in a boisterous mood yesterday. It was late in the eve, and he thundered in, rambling obscenities, cursing the "pernicious projects" as he stumbled into bed. I don't know how much longer I can weather these trials – the imbibing in ale, the grumbling, the aggression, the sour moods. I am ashamed to admit that he struck me across the face for failing to prepare adequate meals. How am I to make meals out of stale bread? He drinks away what little money we have left. It all began we these cursed convex lights. I am worried for Thomas' sanity; he is always muttering about the downfall of private and lawful trade and wretched monopolies. He and his father have written multiple treaties to the Mayor, Aldermen, and even Commons, to little avail. I would never utter a word of this to any soul but you dearest sister, but I am rather partial to the appearance of these new lamps. They do not reek half as much as the tallow Thomas renders down. Why could I have not married a man with a more pleasant trade? Moving about the city due to the stench of tallow, living in the most disreputable of neighbourhoods, smelling of things which no respectable woman should ever smell. I could have married a carpenter, but the follies of youth led me to marry for love. Forgive my grumbling. My nerves are frayed with all of this political talk and constant muttering. Providence has decried my fate thusly, and I will bear it as I can, it is trying to live with a husband who is so wholly absorbed by the politics of guilds and lawful trade. I pray that I will soon become comfortable with the state of affairs, as changing circumstances appear unlikely. Thomas will continue to gripe and grumble, while these new lamps continue to devour our family's livelihood. I hope that James and the children are faring well, and that life in the country continues to bring you joy.
Lovingly yours,
Eleanor

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