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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
129
Late
in
November—
when
we
had
returned
home
again,
and
my
father
was
once
more
in
good
health—
I
received
a
letter
from
Miss
Matty;
and
a
very
mysterious
letter
it
was.
She
began
many
sentences
without
ending
them,
running
them
one
into
another,
in
much
the
same
confused
sort
of
way
in
which
written
words
run
together
on
blotting-paper.
All
I
could
make
out
was
that,
if
my
father
was
better
(which
she
hoped
he
was),
and
would
take
warning
and
wear
a
great-coat
from
Michaelmas
to
Lady-day,
if
turbans
were
in
fashion,
could
I
tell
her?
Such
a
piece
of
gaiety
was
going
to
happen
as
had
not
been
seen
or
known
of
since
Wombwell’s
lions
came,
when
one
of
them
ate
a
little
child’s
arm;
and
she
was,
perhaps,
too
old
to
care
about
dress,
but
a
new
cap
she
must
have;
and,
having
heard
that
turbans
were
worn,
and
some
of
the
county
families
likely
to
come,
she
would
like
to
look
tidy,
if
I
would
bring
her
a
cap
from
the
milliner
I
employed;
and
oh,
dear!
how
careless
of
her
to
forget
that
she
wrote
to
beg
I
would
come
and
pay
her
a
visit
next
Tuesday;
when
she
hoped
to
have
something
to
offer
me
in
the
way
of
amusement,
which
she
would
not
now
more
particularly
describe,
only
sea-green
was
her
favourite
colour.
So
she
ended
her
letter;
but
in
a
P.S.
she
added,
she
thought
she
might
as
well
tell
me
what
was
the
peculiar
attraction
to
Cranford
just
now;
Signor
Brunoni
was
going
to
exhibit
his
wonderful
magic
in
the
Cranford
Assembly
Rooms
on
Wednesday
and
Friday
evening
in
the
following
week.
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