I'm claiming that this notebook - probably found in a corner of an uncleared junk shop - contains a splintered twig from a chestnut tree. Certainly, it contains Victorian paper, stitched into the rear, with rag pulp paper, plenty of blank pages, envelopes, tucks and secret folds. Snatches of bridal net - hidden in the spine and proclaimed at the front - seem a clue, as does the fire-damaged love letter to a Mr Rochester. (Written by which Wife? Couldn't say.)
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