We have a fine wind and are going twelve knots an hour, have for the last sixteen hours. The air feels cool and delightful.
Willie’s forehead quite troubles me. That is not a boil what he has. It is an ugly looking thing, large of the deepest red and feels rather soft to the touch. The outside skin seems to be constantly drying and peeling off. Williams says that it is a bunion, and that it will in time pass away. I trust that it will shortly and leave no mark on his beautiful white brow. From present appearances, that looks almost impossible. There is another coming. I trust it will be nothing more than a little boil like the first. Dear child, it is sad to see his sweet face so badly disfigured – but it is far too rough to write today.