The man standing at the doorway, less than two feet from me, was exactly as I had pictured him except that he had a thick, grey beard and a full head of hair, also grey. He was of smallish to medium height and his eyes, made smaller by the saggy skin enveloping them, seemed both despairing and hopeful. I had thought to bring along your letter and I shoved this before him. “I would like to return your letter.” He blinked slowly, his attention directed not to the letter but to the intruder standing outside his door. He seemed terribly out of sorts, like a patient with a terminal illness. I felt I had made a terrible mistake, yet I asked him, “Did you write this?” Now he gazed at the letter, at the same time feeling around in his tweed jacket for something. Maybe a monocle, but to be safe I s
