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13 juin 2008 @ 18:13
A Friend Worries  
My dearest apperception,

The evenings of summer are too brief, the light too lingering, the heat too reluctant to release its grip upon the land. The languor of sweat and sunlight sinks deep into the bones and is alleviated only by the chill of night. And it is in the clarity and stillness of night that I like best to think of you.

Often, when the blue of twilight finally recedes and gives way to splendid black, I dress in a robe and go out to the telescope to gaze at the stars. As I ponder the heavens, I wonder at times if I am gazing at you, for the rumors of your death weigh heavily upon both my dreams and my waking mind.

It was only last week that, after happening upon M. Lindsey Milton at the Hotel India, I was told that you had been spotted in the company of a young woman at the jockey. Such was my desire to believe this news that I was willing to overlook your hysterical gynophobia and expulsion from the club, which I must say was conspicuous in its lack of justice and gentlemanly care. This came less than a month after having an opposite reaction, when seeing your cousin Anton, to being told that you "were in China" for all he knew, after which I had a string of terrible nightmares wherein you were stricken by Yellow Fever alone on the Yangtze, far from the preserving embrace of good society and European science.

But lest you think that I am merely selfish in my concern, let me relate to you that a number of friends, both dear and esteemed, have asked after your health and whereabouts, and have expressed both publicly and in confidence their misgivings regarding your mysterious absence. Just the other day, after my late-morning nap, I decided to rouse myself from the mists of sleep by perusing the latest issue of Parnassus. No sooner had I started reading than I ran into a glowing (if shallow) review your poem about Daphne. Oh, how I can remember that poem tumbling off your lilting tongue as if it were yesterday.

By Zeus, come back to me, dear friend!

with affection,

and tenderness,

yours always and forever,

mendaciloquent