pragalagma

I am devoted to Jacob. Despite his gray hands. We are currently in
hiding, and we fear my mother's men will give us away. Jacob has little to
worry about. His face will no doubt make him a club darling. Yet he is
still concerned, for me if not for himself. I hate him all the more for
it. Yesterday large men in ridiculous green hats came and wrestled my
mother. Afterwards she thanked them and gave them a copper piece. She
delights in proving her strength. Her attendants grow weary; their
reputations have suffered. I believe she plans to fire all of them, and
then rehire them only if they change their names to the characters in her
so-called autobiography, a fictional account of her escape from the Nazi
Womens' Army. The Nazi Womens' Army does in fact exist, but only after
mother bribed several noted historians. The historians themselves grabbed
guns and swastikas and headed for the fatherland, or if male, they
convinced their wives and daughters to do so. She cites it as her greatest
accomplishment. It is a terrible burden to keep it a secret as she so
desires, as I myself am very proud and want to scream it to the world and
let all know I am that woman's son. We plan on letting Marty Pastorson
dress up as a chambermaid. It's really an unnecessary addition to our
reconnaissance plan, but it means so much to him. Marty will go forward
under cover of darkness as well as a delightful petticoat.