June 18th, 1763

It seems to me that time is passing even slower when waiting for a dear friend to arrive.
It is hot, too. The rain last night didn't cool the air in the slightest way. I'm in my room, with opened windows here and in the closet. So I sit between the doors and hope to catch fresh air. I'm not in the mood to write. I neglected the letters this morning as well.

Let's hope for a cooler night.