7. Clem August 31, 1888
Dearest Mother,
The first thing I did when I arrived was to walk by your window, and I did see you there, I think, but it was hard to tell.
In the past it has always been nighttime when I arrive to leave a letter, and I had not noticed then how very dirty the window is, and how the others are practically barricaded with objects from the inside.
What manner of room is it? Is it that he keeps you in a storeroom of some kind, surrounded by crates and boxes?
You assured me that you weren’t in any physical discomfort or danger.
It pains me to think that you said so only to assuage me.
For when I see that filthy window and I think of who would keep someone in such a space, I imagine the most horrid jailer.
But that is not why I’m writing. I wanted you to know that I’m here.
I have heeded your warning about the Commonwealth students.
And yet…they are mere children, Mother. Malicious children, yes, but so terribly young in their abilities and aspirations.
It’s true that at first I felt some unease walking among them.
They have a kind of recklessness to them, many an air of abandon almost, that feels like walking with my back to a knife thrower.
But soon enough I realized that the knives are all dull.
As luck would have it, I have already encountered Simeon twice. The first time I avoided him, thinking he would recognize me, but I needn’t have been concerned. He sees what he wishes to see, and so he sees admirers all around him.
Please don’t worry; I’m being careful. I will come to see you on Monday, at last.
Your loving,
Clem