i miss you too. i'd like to have a familiar face here, but you can't come. i'll explain why to you - but in several different letters. i don't have time to write too much, and the overseers might hurt me if they see the letters, so i'll try to finish them immediately.
i hate it here - the factory work isn't easy, and it's dangerous. a girl about your age was killed a few days ago when her hair got stuck in the looms. since then, most of the girls have shaved their heads. and they don't pay us enough, either. we used to get 3 or 4 pence a day - but they've gotten more workers and now we only get a few shillings.
and they hurt us, too, annie. the boys get beaten and the girls get dragged away. i don't know what happens, but they won't talk when they come back and they'll cry when they think everyone is asleep. i hate it so so much. and i don't know what they have me touching, but it's burning off my fingernails, and my skin is getting itchy and rashy and red.
and they don't give us enough food, and we don't get to sleep much because we have to work for hours and hours and sometimes the little boys and little girls will collapse because they're so tired, and we won't see them until a few days later, outside in the street, begging.
please, annie. stay there.