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R. F.

Grandfather’s Seventh Letter


Dear Granddaughter,


I happened upon your project in the library last night, and I must say it is an admirable beginning. The sheer number of maps and travel guides you’ve managed to extract from my collection far surpasses what I believed I owned. 


Yet what was more remarkable than the sheer volume of documents was your thorough cross-referencing of routes, copious notes, running tally of likely costs, and the fact that you did not bother to return anything to its proper shelf.


Any annoyance with my new paper floor soon evaporated, my dear, when I saw you had not forgotten me in your plans. There was always a calculation for the cost of an additional ticket or meal for your humble chaperone. If this journey comes to fruition – and I see of no reason why it might not – there is one alteration we must make to your plans.


Currently, you include Baden as one of our destinations. While I know you are eager to follow the course of my rather haphazard tour in exact and full measure, I am afraid we must pass over that place.


You see, Baden was never an intended destination for the Grand Tour. I knew that by all accounts it was a very beautiful town both in its natural form and in the creations of man. The weather is forever temperate, the natural baths healthful, service impeccable, and all the people elegant.





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You can also buy the novel The Grand Tour, a story about William Bridgeman’s journey across Europe during the twilight of magic.

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