I am beginning to wonder how I ever let Henry Luce seduce me into this god-awful job of reporting on all the squalid desperation that our government and the stock market and fate and even the weather is now inflicting on this country’s citizens. It can make a man sick to his very bones, the despair. But enough. You’ve heard this diatribe before and no doubt you’ll hear it again. I miss your voice singing in the music room, making me feel as if not all the lovely things have been leeched out of this place we call America. Because there is you. I did not see Gerald on his trip here after all. He skulked around like Lon Chaney in The Phantom of the Opera. Instead, I received a letter. And what a doozy it was. Of course, I think I know what he’s saying. But does one ever really know about another person? I wish you were here to read it over my shoulder. But I am including the most relevant parts: I owe you an apology for avoiding you when I visited New York last.
