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The faxed letters were waiting at the post office the next morning. Slim bought a celebratory can of beer and retired to the village green’s bench to read through them.
Although outwardly a quiet man, Amos had a lot to say in the written form. A lot of it was largely over Slim’s head: technical information relating to the construction of clocks, carving methods, mechanical terminology. Occasionally Amos would insert little snippets of his personality: ‘…I’ve found it harder to concentrate of late…’, ‘…I sometimes wonder if there is a futility in hunting perfection of the mind when one’s life is calamitous…’, ‘…my workshop has always been my solace, where I can shut out the traumas of the outside world…’.
It wasn’t until later letters planning the visit that Amos really began to revea
