A Stuga On the Cusp of the Orust Riviera, tucked away next to a hobbit hole in the woods.
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Opening: BEING A LETTER FROM SIR WILLIAM BETFORD, OF BAMPTON ST. MARY, IN DORSETSHIRE, TO GEORGE TREVELYAN, OF LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, LONDON.
"My dear Trevelyan: Never in my life have I been placed in such an awkward, not to say invidious, position. I am, as you know, a plain man, fond of a plain life and plain speaking, and yet I am about to imperil that reputation by communicating to you what I fancy you will consider the most extraordinary and unbelievable intelligence you have ever received in your life. For my own part I do not know what to think. I have puzzled over the matter until I am not in a position to judge fairly. You must, therefore, weigh the evidence, first for us both. For pity's sake, however, do not decide hastily. _In dubiis benigniora semper sunt præferenda_*, as they used to say in our school days, must be our motto, and by it we must abide at any hazards.
* in doubtful cases we must always prefer the mildest sentence
What a come-on opening.