I should like her to give one of them to Willy. They are very common boxes, but the sort of thing she likes; and as Grindlay is particularly charged to pay all expenses of everything we send to you, I do not mind sending a small present. I could not afford a good one just now, as we are all utterly ruined by the wear and tear of the rainy season, which not only destroys everything we have in hand, but makes the very few things that are left in the market about four times the price they are in England; and yet, hot as it is, people expect us to go about dressed, so we must buy these bad, dear goods. The box of books, as we have told you in our ‘Perfect’ letter was very acceptable, but not half enough. ‘Many and often’ is the only rule about sending us books, for we cannot get them here at all. There is no occupation but reading for wretched imprisoned women in this country.
George is preparing a very pretty present for Mary from Moorshedabad, but it cannot be completed till the rains are over—so, mind! I have not mentioned it. I have not alluded to it—you can’t guess what I mean—I only know a secret, and as I thought you might think yourselves neglected in that box sent by the ‘Perfect’
