One envelope is pink, with clunky handwriting and spritzed in popular boudoir perfume he might have caught a whiff of once or twice. It includes an address to a sketchier part of town … that may or may not seem familiar.

Quote:How much is not rich? Any health issues?

Another envelope is plain, the handwriting cursive but not comfortably so.

Quote:Dear letter writer,

I saw your inquiry for a wife. I am 19, no children, seeking stable life. I do not ask much, and it sounds as if you don’t, either. Perhaps it could work. Might we meet for tea this week?

-R. S.

One letter is on high quality legal paper, free of bleed. It smells nice (intentionally nice, even) … but … more woody than floral. The hand is ornate, and possibly uncomfortably familiar? It is address from Box #54.

Quote:Dearest Not-Richard,

I ask for a moment of your trust. Take your hand from your pocket, please. Unbutton your outerwear, down to flesh and bone, and put your hand upon your chest. Is it warm? Is there a pulse? Does your heart beat? Does it not yearn for more than a steady pace onward, in a cold but full marriage bed?

I, on the other hand, am attractive enough for two. Keep that shirt unbuttoned, let your hand down, and decide if you want to trust me still. I need not your money. I, too, am unlikely to have children. But I can chase the cold away from one lonely sailor, lost at sea.

Take a chance, sailor.

-Swordfish