On the desk was a letter, and on the letter was written this:
'...there have probably been warmer autumns, but I daresay by that token there have been colder ones as well. Leave has been a welcome change. The country has done Brother a world of good, Mother, you will be pleased to know. His colour has returned and so has his mouth, every morning walk I think he scares more children with his mutterings and scandalizes everyone with his swearing. Soon, people will start accusing him of speaking in tongues. But it is not tongues, Mother. He is relearning Ancient Greek, a battle I think I'll may be entrenched by for a very long time.
Right now though, he's resting. As he should, the physicians keeps telling him this and he keeps ignoring it--but I think anyone would forgive them if they could see him now. It is a sight, Mother, and because you are not here I will tell it to you in detail: the reading room of the Rockbell summer estate, which you know. An an armchair, which you do not know. Sleeping peacefully with his boots still on and a pile of books propping up his hanging arm, the noonday light slanting in through the windows and over his face--which is lined, but at some peace. Sometimes he croaks out some horrible curse that will no doubt be repeated in the waking hour but here and now he settles, and I fear will have to turn him back onto his stomach again soon. He is impossible. I think you would marvel to see him at it...'
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Date: 2005-11-18 08:12 am (UTC)'...there have probably been warmer autumns, but I daresay by that token there have been colder ones as well. Leave has been a welcome change. The country has done Brother a world of good, Mother, you will be pleased to know. His colour has returned and so has his mouth, every morning walk I think he scares more children with his mutterings and scandalizes everyone with his swearing. Soon, people will start accusing him of speaking in tongues. But it is not tongues, Mother. He is relearning Ancient Greek, a battle I think I'll may be entrenched by for a very long time.
Right now though, he's resting. As he should, the physicians keeps telling him this and he keeps ignoring it--but I think anyone would forgive them if they could see him now. It is a sight, Mother, and because you are not here I will tell it to you in detail: the reading room of the Rockbell summer estate, which you know. An an armchair, which you do not know. Sleeping peacefully with his boots still on and a pile of books propping up his hanging arm, the noonday light slanting in through the windows and over his face--which is lined, but at some peace. Sometimes he croaks out some horrible curse that will no doubt be repeated in the waking hour but here and now he settles, and I fear will have to turn him back onto his stomach again soon. He is impossible. I think you would marvel to see him at it...'