"Some one'd have to anyhow, if she was here, for she couldn't read, herself." Sim, by means of a table knife, opened the envelope.
"You read it, Wid," said he.

"You can read better'n I can." And so Wid accepted Sim's conventional fiction, knowing he could neither read nor write.
"Dear Mary," said Anne's letter, "I got to write to you.

I wisht you hadn't went away when you did and how you did, for, Mary, I feel so much alone.
"You know when you started out I was joking you about Charlie Dorenwald.

I told you, even if you did have an inside chance you maybe might not be married any sooner than I was.

That was just a little while ago.