Chapter 27: Audrie Brendon to Her Mother

⁠​​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌⁠Tintern Abbey, August 27th

Dearest Saint: We're not exactly living in Tintern Abbey; that would be too good to be true, and would also annoy the rooks which cry and cry always in the ruins, as if they were ghosts of the dead Cistercian monks, clothed not in white, but in decent black, ever mourning their lost glory. But we are in a perfect duck of a hotel, covered with Virginia creeper, and as clos