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1890- Entry 1

The mining machine is progressing nicely. There are still many pieces left to put in place, but I have devised a list of what it will cost and what pieces I think I will need. The plans are extensive, a work of art themselves. Lucille does not understand this, but the clean line of a draftsman's pen holds beauty just as much as that of the man who sketches portraits.

There is so much to do- we must figure out how much coal this will need, and if we can afford it. I tell her that the mines will treat us well when it works and she reminds me that if it works, it still must be financed, and that requires more money than we have. We have budgeted well, but it will still run dry in a few years if we cannot find someone to finance it. She is planning on visiting Edinburgh next.

Lucille has decided that my next wife should be an older woman- someone with means, but for whom death does not seem so foreign an idea. She says that will make her passing easier for her to accept and less difficult for me. I do not know. I am hoping someone will finance my machine and we will not need to find out. But Lucille brushes this off and I wonder- does she not believe in this project? Does she think my invention so worthless that it will not yield and we will otherwise die? Or is this a game for her? Does she enjoy the process of slowly stealing a life, one sip of tea at a time?

I would not wish to believe the worst of her, but I have seen her after the deed is done and I cannot shake the feeling that it might be the latter.

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