DEAR CLELAND:
I think I'll go up tonight, stay at Pittsfield, and either drive across the mountain in the morning of take an early train through the tunnel for North Adams. Either way ought to land me at Runner's Rest station about eight in the morning.
I can't tell you what your kindness has done for me. I think it was about all I really wanted in the world—your friendship. It seems to clean off my slate, square me with life.
I shall start in a few minutes. Until we meet, then, your friend, OSWALD GRISMER.
He directed the envelope to Cleland's studio in town.
The other letter he directed to Stephanie at Runner's Rest and stamped it.
He wrote to her:
I'm happier than I have been in years because I can do this thing for you.
And now I'm going to admit something which will ease your mind immensely: the situation was so impossible that I also began to weary of it a little. You are entitled to the truth.
And now life looks very inviting to me. Liberty is the most wonderful thing in the world. And I am restless for it, restless to begin again.