November 6, 1870
Received a telegram from Emmett. It was sent on the first of November.
Sent: November 5, 1870
"I will try to keep you posted on our progress. I hope you are doing well at the University. No word from Stripe. I am sorry. We have begun repairing Adam. Please be well. I shall see you soon."
I wonder what the appropriate response would be for this telegram. I suppose I am more concerned with Adam than with anything else. So much has yet to be stated, and I am stiffened with ambiguities. Unfortunately, I am no longer a player in this game.
To-day, during the lecture, I could not help but recall the fondness I felt when I sifted through that immense hull of wonders. I do miss it fiercely. Perhaps, more so, I miss the company of good friends. It is a deep pain that feels like knots in my stomach, and which keeps me up most nights. Thankfully, however, I no longer hear those shrill voices. Often I stand in the empty hallway—head against the classroom door, and wish I was elsewhere among the court of discovery. At the very least, I no longer experience such ghastly nightmares. Whether that is good or bad remains to be known.
