"My dear Ada, - (Isn't that your short name? "Adelaide" is all very well, but you see when one's dreadfully busy one hasn't time to write such long words - particularly when it takes one half an hour to remember how to spell it - and even then one has to go and get a dictionary to see if one has spelt it right, and of course the dictionary is in another room, at the top of a high bookcase - where it has been for months and months, and has got all covered with dust - so one has to get a duster first of all, and nearly choke oneself in dusting it - and when one has made out at last which is dictionary and which is dust, even then there's the job of remembering which end of the alphabet "A" comes - for one feels pretty certain it isn't in the middle - then one has to go and wash one's hands before turning over the leaves - for they've got so thick with dust one hardly knows them by sight - and, as likely as not, the soap is lost, and the jug is empty, and there's no towel, and one has to spend hours and hours in finding things - and perhaps after all one has to go off to the shop to buy a new cake of soap -so, with all this bother, I hope you won't mind my writing it short and saying, "My dear Ada")."