Here is the receipt for money paid on the adoption of a nameless child, and the promise in my own handwriting to the woman who adopted him:—never to make any further claims upon him—a resignation of all the rights of motherhood.
The rest is misery in black and white.
A diary of stoic days and nights when even dreams were wet with tears. An account of a secret sojourn in a strange city—veiled walks in twilight streets—skulking in corners—lies—deceit—trickery—truckling to convention. The copy of a prayer from Thomas-à-Kempis, and on the opposite page a character sketch of the drunken and facetious landlady in whose house the child was born.
Seal up the package.
If I look at it too long I am likely to go blind with rage at my own weakness.
I am likely to go mad and pull down upon me the pillars of society.
I am likely to go mad and destroy the world—
Seal up the package—hide it away—
Forget—forget.
The incident is closed.