[Any letters Jem has written have already been and gone. She's empty handed when she knocks her elbow into Cellar, sitting down and offering her a drink - something clear, with a lime in it.
She nods to the paper, to the drying ink, asks cheekily: ] Any of 'em mine?
letters
She nods to the paper, to the drying ink, asks cheekily: ] Any of 'em mine?