12
Vipers’ Tangle
I believed at one time that this attitude of yours was deliberate, the expression of some fixed determination the reason for which escaped me. And then, quite suddenly, I realized the truth—which was that discussions of the kind I longed for just didn’t interest you. So utterly alien was I from all your concerns, that you shied away, not because you were frightened but because you were bored. You became an expert at scenting danger and could see me coming a mile off. If, sometimes, I managed to take you by surprise, either you succeeded, without difficulty, in avoiding the issue, or you patted my cheek, gave me a kiss, and made for the door. I might have some reason to fear that, having read thus far, you will tear this letter up and read no farther. But somehow I don’t think that is likely to happen. For some time now I have caught you looking at me with a certain amount of surprise and curiosity. You may not be very observant where I am concerned, but even you can hardly fail to have noticed a change in my mood. I feel pretty well assured that, this time, you will not avoid the issue. I want you to know, you and the rest of your brood, your son, your daughter, your son-in-law, and your grandchildren, what manner of man it is who has lived out his solitary existence in your midst and against whom you have closed your ranks; the overworked lawyer who has had to be handled with tact because he held the purse strings but whose sufferings might have been those of somebody living on